Old Ghosts
by Gillian Middleton
Summary: AU story where Sam and Dean were separated as children and meet as adults, not knowing they are brothers. They fall in love, but they have Dean's past & Sam's family to contend with. And then there is the biggest secret of them all...
1. Chapter 1

**Old Ghosts.**

by Gillian

Part One

Dean wiped his hands on a soiled old rag and stuck it in the back pocket of his equally soiled old coveralls. He'd fallen in love with this '65 Chevelle SS the moment he'd seen it, but now he was cursing the day its owner had towed the damn thing into his shop.

"Gary, get started on the transmission for me, will you? I'm gonna have to call Latimer and get him to okay the extra costs."

"You know he'll say yes," Gary grinned, white teeth gleaming. "He loves this little slut."

"The bitch is breakin' my heart," Dean snorted, heading back to his tiny office and throwing himself into his chair. He grinned, sitting for a moment as the chair squeaked and rocked. This feeling never got old. Sitting in his chair, in his office, about to call a customer and sweet talk him into spending another $400 bucks in his shop.

Even after all this time, he could still take a moment to savor it.

Mr Latimer cursed and complained, but, as Gary predicted, he okayed the extra expenditure, although not without obtaining Dean's word that his baby would be ready to purr its way home by Friday. Hoping that he wasn't going to be made a liar by the powder-blue bitch leaking oil all over the floor of his shop, Dean made a few notes in his slanted hand and sat back with a sigh. His mind was full of plans, schedules, overtime for Gary and a myriad of other details involved in running a classic auto repair shop.

And then he looked up.

The glass between his office and the shop floor was slightly grimy and covered with old marks from various calendars and business cards taped to it over the years. But it was clear enough to see the young man walk into the shop and pause, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the artificial light after the harsh sunshine outside. And it was clear enough to make out broad shoulders and a mop of brown hair.

Dean frowned, a tug of recognition vying with the sudden pull of attraction. Both were surprising, first, because Dean knew he'd never met this young man before. He would have remembered him if he had.

And second because Dean didn't go for guys. Had never really gone for guys. Had hated every minute of time he'd spent with guys, back when he didn't have a choice, or when he'd made the wrong ones.

But there was no mistaking this sensation, and he went with it for a moment, puzzling as the young man bent over the car and exchanged a few words with Gary. There was something so familiar about the way he tilted his head...

And then he was looking over at the office window and all rational thought disappeared in an instant.

Numbly Dean sat as the man made his way to the open door and paused at the threshold. He smiled shyly and Dean felt a clench in his gut.

_Oh god, he has a dimple._

"Mr Petrakos?" the young man was saying doubtfully.

"Can I help you?" Dean managed, glad his voice came out even.

"I called yesterday, I thought I was speaking to a much older man."

"That would be my partner," Dean returned. "He's also Mr Petrakos. Call me Dean." He was quite proud of how that came out as well, so easily, so naturally.

_God, he's tall. Look at those shoulders._

"Oh, okay, Thanks." Again that shy smile. "I'm Sam. Sam Fielding. Your partner said you might have some part-time work coming up?"

A memory surfaced and Dean nodded, shuffling through his paperwork. "Right," he said, glancing down at Nick's untidy scrawl. Sam Fielding, and a cell phone number. "You're a student?"

"Yeah, at Stanford," Sam confirmed, leaning a little against the door jamb. Odd, how some tall men seemed to stoop, as if unsure about the amount of space they were taking up. But Sam stood tall, even when he slouched. There was a quiet sort of confidence about him that Dean liked, and that was apart from the rush of hormones crowding for attention in all the major parts of his body.

"Do you have much experience with classic cars?"

Sam straightened and smiled eagerly. "I've worked with my Dad stripping down old cars, as a hobby. And I worked weekends and summers at Nash Auto Repair, in Richmond."

"Phil Nash, sure," Dean nodded, impressed. "No wonder Nick told you to come in. He's good friends with Phil."

"It was Mr Nash who suggested I call, if I needed some extra cash. I'm on a scholarship."

Scholarship. Dean absorbed this. He hadn't even graduated from high school, although he had obtained his A.S.E and at Renie's insistence it hung in a frame on the wall behind him. He had no idea what getting a scholarship entailed, but it sounded daunting.

"Well," he said slowly, turning it over in his mind. "As it turns out I do have a lot of work on this week. Maybe a trial?"

Sam grinned, and if Dean thought he'd seen that dimple in all its glory before he'd been dead wrong. Sam Fielding grinned with his whole face and he lit up the dingy little office as if illuminated from within. Dazed, Dean held out his hand, realizing a fraction too late that it was still streaked with grease.

Without hesitation Sam grabbed it and pumped enthusiastically. "When do you want me to start?"

His enthusiasm was infectious, and Dean couldn't help appreciating the fact that the young man didn't mind getting his hands dirty. He smiled back and Sam's grin faltered for a moment and he frowned.

"Have we met?" he blurted out, then flushed a little. "I just get the feeling that I know you?"

"I don't think so," Dean returned, dismissing his own fleeting sense of familiarity.

"Maybe we just passed on the street," Sam said thoughtfully and Dean had a sudden flash of horror that passed as swiftly as it began. He did a quick calculation in his head, estimating Sam's age. The kid would have been like, eleven the last time Dean had walked the streets. And Richmond, California was a long way from The Castro.

Dean shook his head and pushed past his new employee. "You know anything about the Chevrolet Chevelle?"

"My favorite muscle car," Sam smiled, following him out. "She's a beauty."

Dean slanted him a wry glance. "You won't be saying that in an hour."

-666-

"You got a good eye, kid," Dean admitted a couple of hours later.

"Please don't call me kid," Sam said in a pained voice, accepting the soda Dean passed him and twisting off the cap. "I'm nineteen."

Gary snickered and thumbed the collar of the garish shirt poking up from his filthy coverall. "This shirt is nineteen."

Dean joined in his laughter and Sam shook his head with a good natured chuckle.

"You got the hands of a mechanic," Gary allowed, looking down at his own hands, dark skin nicked and scraped from a lifetime of motor work.

Dean found his glance falling on Sam's hands and he swallowed and looked away at the now familiar clench in his gut. If he wasn't already feeling the fierce sting of attraction for Sam, one look at those hands would have tipped him over the edge. Large, broad, powerful knuckles now bruised and grease streaked, Fingers long and sensitive, one had a small gouge from a slipped spanner. Dean licked his lips at the thought of lifting that powerful hand, cradling it, running his tongue over that tiny wound...

When Dean glanced up Sam's eyes were fixed on Dean's lips and then darted up to meet his eyes. With a jolt Dean saw a mirror of desire in Sam's dark green gaze.

_Oh god._

"Quittin' time," Gary said, getting up with a grunt and a hand to the small of his back. "I'm getting too old for this."

"You always say that," Dean rushed to fill the vacuum of space Gary's departure created between him and Sam.

"It's always true." Gary sketched a wave and walked out into the afternoon's long shadows and a moment later they heard the low throb of his truck pulling away.

Dean took another mouthful of soda, feeling the awkward silence stretch. Nick was always telling him to go out and meet people, make friends. Find someone.

But Nick was the kind of man who could do that, who could smile and shake a stranger's hand and make a friend. Dean had never learnt the knack.

"What time do you want me back tomorrow?"

Sam was standing up, tossing his empty soda bottle into the trash bin.

Sam was leaving.

And awkward silence aside, Dean didn't want him to go.

"Your t-shirt is ruined."

Sam dropped his chin and studied the stains ruefully. "I guess it's a work shirt now."

"I'll find you a pair of coveralls for tomorrow," Dean promised.

"You do want me back tomorrow?"

_I want you._

"Yes," Dean said.

Sam ducked his head again and smiled. "Thanks," he said softly. He held his hand out and Dean took it, felt it enclose his own, felt the warmth and strength of it. He dared a glance at Sam's face and saw that flame of desire in his eyes. He also saw the youthful planes of Sam's face, and the flush under his fine young skin.

Suddenly Dean felt old, jaded in a way he hadn't felt in years. With a tug his hand was free and he was stepping back, nodding. "Same time tomorrow?"

Sam frowned a little, then nodded, taking his own step back and away. And then he was gone and Dean made his way back into his office and collapsed back into his chair.

"Oh god."

-666-

The TV was blaring away in the kitchen when Dean let himself in the back door and he automatically turned it down.

"I'm watching that," Nick complained and Dean shook his head and tapped the table as he crossed to the fridge. "Turn your hearing aid up," he said loudly and Nick snorted and fiddled with the dial.

"Keep forgetting. How'd you go with the Chevelle? Was it the trans?"

"Yeah."

"Told you," Nick said smugly, accepting a beer and twisting the cap off. "Did that kid show up?"

Dean busied himself with his own beer, tossing the cap onto the bench. "Yeah."

Nick frowned at him. "And?"

"And I think he'll work out. Gary doesn't want the overtime like he used to."

"Time was he'd be begging me for it," Nick recalled. "Guess he doesn't need the extra cash since Shona came and took Ronnie back." The old man sighed. "Gary sure does miss that boy."

"He'll be back," Dean said cynically. "Shona'll get tired of playing mom again in a few months. If Ronnie has any sense he just won't go with her next time."

"She's his mom," Nick shrugged.

"And Gary's his grandfather. And he gives a damn about the kid." Dean drained his beer. "I'm gonna grab a shower. What do you want for dinner?"

"I made some lamb stew." Nick played with his beer bottle and Dean paused on his way out of the room, lifting a hand and laying it on the old man's shoulder. Nick's late wife, Renie, used to make lamb stew and send it over to Dean at the shop when he'd first met them. She'd fill a Tupperware container with stew and she had this little wedge shaped one that held a slice of pie for dessert. Renie would wrap them in cloth and put them in a bag and send it with Nick in the morning, ordering him to tell Dean to heat it up in the microwave for his supper.

Dean remembered the first time he'd unpacked that bag and laid out the stew and the slice of pie. Renie had even put cutlery wrapped in a paper napkin.

He squeezed Nick's shoulder and the old man nodded and slanted him a small smile. "Not as good as hers," he said gruffly.

"Nothing ever could be," Dean agreed.

-666-

In the shower Dean jerked off, feeling guilty about it for the first time in years. Thinking about the past, remembering those early days when he'd still been so bruised and raw. It felt like a kind of betrayal now to be fantasizing about a man as he touched himself and stroked his body to completion. To be thinking of a man's broad hands, strong wide shoulders, Sam's soft pink lips...

Dean came with a low groan, leaning against the tiled wall as the simmering tension released through him in waves of pleasure. The warm water poured down on him, pattering onto the proof of that pleasure and washing it down the drain. Emerging from the shower Dean felt stronger, steadier.

So he'd been attracted to a guy, so what? It was probably a good sign. Maybe it meant he was forgetting the early years of his sexuality, when it had all been about grown men, and his own pleasure had played no part in the act of sex.

Maybe this was the way he was meant to be, would have been, if his young eyes hadn't been so brutally opened to an adult world of carnality.

Maybe, in a different world, Dean Petrakos would have been just as attracted to a guy as to a girl?

Except he wouldn't have been Dean Petrakos in that world, would he? If Nick and Irene Petrakos hadn't taken him in, given him a purpose, even inviting him to share their name.

Dean Winchester he would have been, in that other world, where he didn't dream about flames and a tall man carrying him to safety.

And a small hand tucked safely in his...

-666-

The stew was good and Dean tore a wedge of pita bread in half and chased the gravy around the bottom of his plate.

"I guess it's leftovers tomorrow," Nick said, helping himself to one last string bean before putting the lid back on the pan. "I still make too much."

Enough for three, he meant, and Dean felt another sting of sadness as he pushed his plate aside. Sometimes he couldn't believe Renie had been gone for a year already, and at other times it felt like a lifetime since the last time he'd seen her. She'd stroked his cheek, told him not to worry, tilted her soft pink cheek for a kiss. Then whispered in his ear, told him to look after Nick.

"I will," he'd whispered back, not knowing then that it would be the last thing he'd ever say to her. She'd slipped away in the night, all alone in her hospital room.

In a lifetime of pain and loss Dean had learnt the hardest way that he was still capable of mind numbing grief. And Nick had been broken. Sometimes Dean thought that without him there Nick would have just given up, just laid down and waited to join his wife. In the end they'd held each other together, and Dean had kept his promise to Renie, to take care of Nick.

It was a promise he'd keep forever.

"What time's your appointment tomorrow?"

"Two-thirty. I can catch the bus."

Dean shook his head. "I'll be here at two."

"I thought you were busy?"

"Gary'll be fine. And this new kid, Sam." Dean shrugged. "He's okay."

"I could drive myself if the damn DMV hadn't taken my license away," Nick said disgustedly.

Dean shrugged noncommittally, since he'd been breathing a sigh of relief when Nick's last license renewal had been turned down. The man had driven for 55 of his 70 years, but that last year he'd had a few close calls. His eyesight was worse but he forgot to wear his glasses. He wore two hearing aids but kept forgetting he'd turned the damn things down. After one hair raising trip with Nick at the wheel Dean had been about ready to steal the old man's license himself.

He was glad it hadn't come to that - Nick had his pride and Dean owed him too much to want to dent it.

"I'll be here at two," he repeated.

-666-

Dean drove Nick to the hospital and waited for him before driving him home. It was nearly five by the time he dropped him off, but Dean decided he'd go back to the shop anyway. Gary would be about ready to lock up, but it was still worth checking up on things. And Sam might still be there too, of course.

If he'd showed up.

Dean was pretty sure he'd showed up.

Sure enough Sam was still there, washing his hands at the big cracked sink and Dean paused in the doorway and stared. Gary had scrounged up some overalls and Sam had unbuttoned them and pushed them down to his hips to wash up. Underneath he was wearing a white t-shirt that clung to his broad chest and tapering waist. Bending over the sink he splashed water up onto his face and Dean swallowed hard as droplets clung to his eyelashes and the soft strands of hair at his brow.

"Hey, boss," Gary greeted. "How'd Nick go at the hospital?"

Dean jerked his attention away from Sam and tried to unscramble his brain. What the hell was wrong with him?

"He got the all clear on his heart," Dean reported. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Sam straighten and rub at his face with the towel. "Doctor said the chest pains are just indigestion."

"Well, that's a relief." Gary clapped him on the shoulder. "I'll give him a call when I get home, check up on him. See you Monday, Dean, Sam."

"See you, Gary," Sam called. The younger man had stepped out of his coveralls and hung them on a hook, before pulling down a blue denim shirt and shrugging into it. He turned and smiled at Dean. "Sorry I didn't get to see you before you left."

"How'd everything go?"

Sam reported on the afternoon's work while Dean grabbed a couple of soda's from the fridge. "You have time?" he asked, offering a bottle.

Sam accepted the bottle and leaned against the wall as they chatted about the day. Dean was just beginning to enjoy the ease of the conversation when Sam looked up at him from beneath his lashes and murmured.

"I can work tomorrow, if you want me."

And it wasn't what he said but the way he said it and Dean couldn't help himself.

"I want you," he returned huskily. Sam's face was lighting up, and it was worth all the confusion and nerves about this to see that wide smile, the glow in his eyes. Dean figured he should be the one moving, stepping forward, starting this thing, but he could only stand there, holding his now warm soda as Sam laid his own bottle down and took a step closer.

"I sure hoped you did," he whispered and Dean braced himself as Sam moved into his personal space, six foot four of muscles and broad shoulders leaning over him.

For a minute Dean was twelve again and a flutter of panic ran over his skin at the scent, the presence, the sheer maleness of the man planting a hand flat on the wall by his head. But then he was tilting his head back and gazing into Sam's gorgeous eyes, narrow and slightly slanted, lit up from within with arousal and a slight trace of nervousness.

"Are you sure?" Sam murmured and Dean couldn't wait another moment, he lunged forward and slammed his lips to Sam's, feeling that powerful body brace as they connected, those wide hands reaching up and catching his shoulders.

And Sam didn't push him away, he turned his head and met the kiss head on, parting his lips and accepting the thrust of Dean's tongue, moaning deep in his chest at the contact. The vibration stuttered through their kiss and Dean groaned back, glorying in the taste of Sam on his tongue, the delicious warmth of his strong young body. The scent of him, male and sweaty, filling Dean's nostrils, making him hard.

Sam finally pulled away, tilting his head back as Dean took a deep panting breath, and then another, feeling lightheaded and dizzy with arousal.

"God," Sam muttered, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard.

Dean realized he was still gripping his soda bottle with one hand and he tossed it back onto a crowded bench, finally sliding his hands around Sam and pulling him closer. Their difference in height didn't seem so pronounced now, in fact they seemed to fit together just fine, broad planes of their chests pressing, one of Sam's legs thrust between Dean's so the older man almost straddled a broad thigh. And there, both of them hard, lower bodies thrusting gently even as they drew breath and gazed into each others eyes.

"I've wanted that forever," Sam breathed and Dean chuckled despite himself, enjoying the way Sam's chest felt pressed to his own, the way it rose and fell as Sam laughed a little.

"We only met yesterday," Dean felt compelled to point out, one hand tracing a path on Sam's back, stroking muscle and bone through denim and cotton.

"I guess it just feels like forever," Sam said, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the corner of Dean's mouth. He turned into the gesture but Sam was already drawing back. "You have the most perfect lips."

_"A mouth made for fucking."_

Dean frowned, pushing the old memory out of his head.

"Dean?"

Dean slid his hands to Sam's shoulders and pushed a little and the younger man stepped back, hands dropping reluctantly from Dean's waist.

"What's wrong?" Sam said as Dean straightened, pulling down his jacket where it had ridden up in the back.

"Nothing," Dean said lightly. "We're just in danger of this turning into a bad porno movie."

Sam looked around the auto shop and grinned, frown chased away. "I see what you mean. I'd invite you back to my place but I'm living in a dorm. And I don't think my room mate would appreciate me ravishing you six feet away from him."

Dean's discomfort at the intrusion of old memories faded under Sam's easy smiles.

"Ravish me, huh?" Dean said speculatively, hands flexing as they remembered the taste of Sam's muscled back beneath them.

Sam looked down and then up at him again through his lashes and Dean knew he was being seduced but was starting not to care. There was that dimple again and the allure of those eyes. And there was Sam's scent in his nostrils and Dean knew it was imprinted on him now, that he could close his eyes and recognize it anywhere.

"Hold on," he said, pushing away from the wall and past Sam. He could feel those eyes burning into his back as he crossed the shop floor and swung the wide doors closed, pushing home a couple of bolts and the lock. When Dean turned Sam was right where he'd left him, hopeful anticipation painted across his face. "Follow me."

And Sam followed Dean through the office to a smaller room at the back, graced with a few shelves and a low narrow cot against the back wall.

There was a light switch but even as Dean groped for it, Sam was pushing the door closed and pressing Dean against it and Dean dropped his hand and went with it. This time he closed his mind, letting sheer sensation sweep over him as Sam's mouth found his, opened against his, engulfed his. Sam's hands were everywhere, pushing Dean's jacket off his shoulders, pulling his t-shirt up and burrowing underneath it and Dean arched his back and cried out at the feel of those broad hands against his naked skin.

"God," Sam muttered as their crotches ground together. This time when they separated it was to begin feverishly pulling at their clothes, shirts dragged over their heads, belts unbuckled, jeans unzipped. In the dim light their eyes remained locked, even as bare skin was revealed, even as Dean toed off his shoes and cursed as he kicked them away. And then they were reaching for each other again and tumbling onto the narrow cot.

Sam's hands were cupping his face and Dean clutched broad shoulders as the younger man pressed him into the bed. This was all going so fast that Dean's brain could barely keep up, and he was glad of it when his hands swept down Sam's back and found his butt, sliding over the muscled globes and gripping them. Dean didn't want to think, he didn't want to dwell on how big Sam felt, pressing down on him, pushing against him, hands holding him in place.

"Sam, stop!" Dean gasped, twisting his mouth free, pushing the firm, hard planes of Sam's chest.

"Dean?" Sam panted, leaning over on his side, pulling his weight away from Dean's body. The cot was too narrow to allow him to move any further away but it was enough and Dean breathed a little easier, hands still pressed to Sam, but not pushing him away. "I'm sorry," Sam groaned. "I'm going too fast. I'm sorry."

"No, it's me," Dean admitted, stroking Sam's smooth skin, his cheeks flushing a little with shame. He hoped the room was too dim for Sam to see it, or if he did then that he would mistake it for arousal.

Because Dean was aroused, and he did want this, very much.

But this was also his first time with a man in a long time, and really the first time he had ever wanted a man. And despite the good feelings that Sam's body provoked in him, there were also all these crappy old memories that rose up and threatened to swamp all this pleasure with the pain of the past.

"I want you," Dean admitted, and Sam's guilty expression faded into an uncertain smile.

"I want you too," the younger man admitted shyly. He glanced down their bodies and a flush mantled his smooth cheeks. "Obviously."

Dean chuckled and rolled a little to the side, pressing their bodies together once more.

"Dean," Sam tentatively. "I guess I'm making a mess of this. I just, uh, never, um."

Realization struck Dean and he gasped. "You've never done this before?"

"Of course I have," Sam returned swiftly. "Just not with a guy."

The implications of this roared through Dean and he blinked, wrapping his head around it. The thought that Sam had never been this close to another man was at the same time incredibly arousing and absolutely terrifying. Because although Dean was feeling like a virgin right now, he was about as far from that as a man could be. And Sam - beautiful, open, wonderful young Sam. He deserved better than someone like Dean, who'd seen and done things that would make the boyish countenance beside him twist with disgust.

"Sam," Dean began doubtfully. "Maybe we should slow this down."

"I knew it," Sam said miserably. "I've screwed this all up, haven't I."

Sam was drawing away, hands sliding back, muscles bunching as he prepared to get up off the cot, and suddenly Dean found he couldn't bear it.

"No," he said, reaching out, pulling Sam back against him and pressing their bodies together possessively. "No you haven't screwed anything up. I just think we need to take this a little more slowly. This first time."

"First time," Sam repeated, face hopeful. He slid his hands back over Dean's chest. "Will you show me what to do?" he asked softly and Dean's gut clenched. How could Sam be so trusting, allow himself to be so vulnerable? Didn't he realize how he could get hurt, trusting someone else with so much?

A fierce surge of protectiveness surged through him and he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Sam's eager lips, parting them gently and stroking tenderly with the tip of his tongue.

For Sam he could get past old ghosts that threatened to ruin this moment. Hadn't the past cost him enough already? Hadn't he paid enough in blood and tears and shame? Damned if he would let any of that into this place, here between him and Sam.

"I'm going to make you feel so good," he whispered into Sam's ear, feeling Sam tremble with wanting against him at the soft promise. Dean kissed the curve of Sam's ear and then down his strong jaw line, hands stroking, his own flesh singing as Sam lifted his hands and smoothed down Dean's back.

And now Dean didn't fight the memories of the past, he used them, drawing on years of experience in pleasing a man, and for the first time finding pleasure himself. There was no sting of shame as he worked his way down Sam's body, appreciatively nuzzling his firm paps, tongue finding a pink nipple and toying with it. Instead he gloried in the soft panting cries of Sam's breath as his chest heaved and he clenched his hands convulsively on Dean's shoulders.

Dean looked up through his lashes and pleasure soared through him at the fever glittering in Sam's eyes, white teeth biting his lower lip.

"Dean," Sam sighed. A hand lifted and fingers carded through Dean's hair and he rubbed against the long fingers like a cat.

"Feel good?" Dean asked.

"I want to make you feel good too," Sam said sincerely and Dean smiled.

"Watch and learn then, Sam."

Knowing Sam's eyes were on him made Dean even more excited as he slid down the long lean body beneath him, finding the dimpled curve of Sam's navel and kissing it passionately. Against his breastbone Sam's cock pulsed and jerked, pre-come slicking against him. Mouth open, Dean sat back, drawing in the mown grass scent of Sam's arousal, licking his lips as he contemplated what he was going to do.

Once this had been the ultimate act of submission. Once it had been no more than a tool he used to survive.

For the first time it was an act of giving, and Dean licked his lips again and slid off the end of the cot as Sam straightened and gazed down at him.

"Please," he begged and Dean smiled up at his longing, before bestowing a kiss on the weeping head of Sam's cock. The taste was familiar and yet all new, because this was Sam arching up under his touch, Sam's hands stroking his head, Sam's cock in his mouth, hot and hard and heavy under his fluttering tongue.

Sam was muttering and sobbing, Dean's hands stroked Sam's thickness as he sucked that sensitive head in and out of his mouth. Then he bobbed, taking as much as he could down his throat and sucking hard. Once, twice more he went down and then Sam was tugging at his hair and Dean pulled his mouth away, hands still working as Sam erupted, sticky white come shooting out, painting Dean's lips, his cheek, dribbling down his chin. Experienced fingers still stroked, easing down more gently as the now ultra sensitive cock twitched under his hand.

"Dean," Sam sighed, and Dean felt himself gripped, pulled up, sinking back as Sam collapsed back on the cot. "Oh, god, that was incredible," Sam mumbled, eyes heavy, mouth slack. Dean found his lips and they kissed, tongues stroking languidly. Dean was still hard against Sam's belly but he didn't care that he hadn't come, that Sam was more than likely going to fall asleep under these lazy kisses.

A triumphant joy was filling him. Because he'd done it. He'd conquered the past, better, he'd used it. To please Sam, to find pleasure in something once twisted and wrong.

Sam drew back and licked his lips. "You know what?" he whispered, and Dean shook his head, beyond words. "I'm a fast learner."

Dean's eyes widened as Sam's soft voice tickled his ear, then he shivered as talented lips found the curve of his ear and drew it in, sucking gently.

Sam rolled onto his side, but he didn't press Dean back into the cot again, and Dean dimly registered that Sam _was_ a quick learner. His hands sure seemed to find all the right places, and his lips faithfully followed the path Dean's had mapped on his own body, nuzzling Dean's breast, tongue finding his nipples and rasping a lick over each. Then his mouth was on Dean's belly, hands cupping Dean's waist, blunt thumbs stroking pressing, sliding over the burning heat of his taut skin.

"Sam," Dean managed as Sam slid off the cot, and he pushed himself up groggily, eyes eating up the sight Sam made, long, muscled body crouched naked between his widespread thighs. "God, Sam." Dean thought he should protest, this was Sam's first time, shouldn't this be going slower? But Sam didn't hesitate and his mouth engulfed Dean's cock, and his tongue swept around the head and there wasn't even a trace of his teeth.

And Dean gave in.

Afterwards Sam crawled back up the cot and burrowed in next to him and Dean tasted himself in a lover's kiss for the first time. The intimacy unraveled him and he was like a boy again as he clutched Sam's shoulders and opened himself to the languid caress.

Sam tucked Dean's head into his shoulder and they lay back on the narrow old cot in the small, dingy room, chests still rising and falling, sweat cooling on their bodies. But Dean had never felt so good, so comfortable in his life, and he curved closer to Sam's body, nuzzling the smooth skin of his throat, tasting a drop of sweat there.

"Sam?" he whispered.

"Mmm?"

"You are a first learner," Dean admitted.

Sam chuckled and Dean joined in, hand possessively sliding down and feeling the shiver in Sam's belly as he laughed.

"Let's just say I had a good teacher," Sam said huskily. Then he shivered a little and Dean felt reality catch up. Reluctantly he pulled back.

"You're cold. We should get dressed."

"Couldn't we just get under the covers?"

Dean paused, inordinately glad that Sam didn't want these moments to end any more than he did. "You don't have to be anywhere?"

"Uh uh."

They climbed out of the cot and Dean pulled the covers back, revealing musty old cotton sheets. He glanced at Sam, flushing a little as he realized the younger man was checking him out, eyes running appreciatively over Dean's body. Dean returned the favor, tracing wide shoulders, broad chest, narrow hips and long muscled legs.

"Dude, do you work out?" Dean said huskily, and Sam blushed and climbed back onto the cot. Dean snickered and followed him, snuggling in and sighing as they drew the covers up. "You were staring at me," he pointed out.

"Yeah," Sam agreed, hands circling Dean and pulling him close. "And I was going to ask you the same thing."

"There's a gym down the block, the guy who owns it, Pete, bought a 1953 Ford F-100 from Nick about ten years ago. I keep his truck running and he lets me work out for free."

"Good deal." Sam sighed as Dean tangled their legs together, eyes heavy. "I work out with my Dad. He used to be in the marines, and he likes to stay fit. Here, I have a picture." He groped for his jeans and picked them up off the floor, pulling out his wallet and flipping it open. He fumbled a picture out and Dean took it, squinting in the dim light at the creased old snapshot.

A short, rather chubby redheaded women was standing sandwiched between a teenaged Sam and a tall, broad shouldered black man. In front of her was a small oriental girl, looking about nine or ten. Dean flicked Sam a glance and then looked back at the snapshot, figuring it was maybe three or four years old.

"You were adopted," he realized.

"Yeah, I have a bigger one of these at the dorm," Sam said, accepting the picture back and tucking it into his wallet with long fingers. "My room mate calls us the Rainbow Family."

"What happened to your real family?" Dean asked curiously. It seemed he had more in common with Sam than he'd thought.

"They're my real family," Sam corrected, although he was smiling as he tossed his wallet and jeans back down onto the floor. "But my birth parents gave me up for adoption, I think."

"You think?"

"Yeah. I asked Mom about it and she said she wasn't sure. I thought later that they'd given me up, or maybe even abandoned me, and she was trying to spare my feelings."

"Oh." Dean recalled the cheerful, smiling redhead in the picture. "Don't you want to know?"

"Not really. Mom says that maybe one day I might want to find out more about them, but right now..." Sam shrugged and Dean nodded.

"Yeah," he agreed, a little bitterly. "I get that. Either they're dead, in which case what's the point? Or they gave you up, in which case why would you want to find them now?"

Sam gazed across at him, titling his head curiously and Dean shrugged. "I was in foster care myself," he revealed.

Sam looked surprised. "I thought your partner was related to you?"

"Nick? Nah, him and his wife just kind of took me in, when I was fifteen." Dean looked around the dingy room. "This was my home for about three months until Renie wore me down and got me to move into their spare room."

Sam looked around the tiny, cramped room in amazement. "You lived here?" he asked incredulously and Dean felt a sting of shame.

"And I was glad to have it," he snapped. "Not all of us got adopted by the Rainbow Family, you know."

"Hey," Sam said, drawing him close as Dean pulled back. "I'm sorry, I was just surprised. I thought Nick Petrakos must be your uncle or something."

Dean let himself be cuddled, a little ashamed of his knee-jerk reaction. "Sorry," he muttered.

"I know I was lucky they adopted me," Sam said huskily, nuzzling Dean's hair over his ear. Dean closed his eyes and leaned into the gesture. "I'm sorry you weren't as lucky."

_"I'm sorry."_

It shouldn't mean so much when Sam said it, shouldn't cut so deeply.

_I'm sorry no one wanted you. I'm sorry that you wound up with a creep who wanted you the wrong way. I'm sorry the bodies of strangers on the streets ended up more appealing than another night under that sick fuck._

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered again, and his lips found Dean's cheeks and tasted the salt there.

And Dean let himself be tasted, and curled in even closer.

-666-

"I think I missed the last bus," Sam said, buttoning his jacket against the cool night breeze.

"You bus it here?" Dean asked in surprise.

"It's why I needed some part-time work. Even with a scholarship paying most of my way I don't want to ask Mom and Dad for cash to buy a car. I thought if I pick up some part-time work I can afford an old junker."

"I can keep an eye out for something, if you'd like," Dean offered. "Hop in, I'll drive you back to the dorm."

Sam climbed in to the old pick-up. "I don't know," he said doubtfully. "I guess I expected the owner of a classic auto repair to drive something a little more... classic."

"Hey, this truck will be a classic someday," Dean defended as Sam's lips twitched. "Actually, I have a Chevy Impala at home I picked up for a song. I'm reconditioning her in my spare time."

"So you work with cars all day and then fix cars as a hobby?" Sam snickered.

"We can't all be scholarship boys."

Sam surveyed him across the truck's interior and Dean shot him a glance. "What?"

"You know, you can be a bit touchy at times."

Dean shrugged, accepting the truth of this. So far he liked everything about Sam, but he wasn't sure about this college business. Palo Alto was a college town and Dean had run into a few big-headed jocks who thought 'townies' were fair game for their pranks. A few had learnt the hard way that Dean had picked up some dirty tricks of his own growing up. But their superior attitudes never failed to grate with him.

"I guess I could get used to this old truck," Sam allowed, sliding across the cracked seat and pressing against Dean.

"Yeah, bucket seats leave a lot to be desired," Dean agreed, enjoying the press down his side.

"You think I could help you out with your Chevy sometime?"

Dean glanced away from the road and into teasing eyes. "Which dorm?"

Sam huffed in frustration, but gave him directions and a few minutes later they pulled up. Dean took in the long low building, the smooth lawn, the neat paths. This felt like a whole other world, and he was glad Sam was pressed up against him as another bout of self doubt assailed him. What could somebody from this world see in someone like him?

Long fingers took his chin and turned his head, and then Sam was kissing him, pretty pink lips parting, tongue tip flirting deliciously. "Well?' he demanded softly. "Can I help you with your car? What about after work tomorrow? I can start at nine?"

"Okay," Dean agreed and Sam smiled and kissed him again.

"Thanks for the ride. See you tomorrow."

He climbed out of the truck and his long legs ate up the path as he strode up to the double doors. He sketched another wave and Dean watched him walk inside, engine still idling, lips throbbing.

So maybe there wasn't much future in this, Dean mused as he drove home. It probably wasn't going anywhere.

But right now he had tomorrow to look forward to, and tomorrow night and next week.

Dean had learned a long time ago to take what he could get.

End of Part One


	2. Chapter 2

**Old Ghosts**

Part Two

"There's a plate of fried chicken on the table," Nick called as Dean hung his keys on the hook by the back door.

"Did Gary call?" Dean helped himself to a couple of pieces and grabbed a beer.

Nick was sitting in his favorite armchair and he looked up from the TV as Dean made himself comfortable on the couch, plate perched on his lap.

"Yeah, he's still pretty down. He asked me to go fishing tomorrow."

"You up for it?"

"We'll only be dropping in a few lines," Nick said pointedly. "Not deep sea diving."

"Just asking," Dean said mildly.

"You gotta stop worrying about me, Dean."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Who's worried about you? Just don't bring me back any slimy fish to clean."

"Fishing isn't about catching fish," Nick reminded him. "It's the fine art of relaxing."

"Over a cooler of beer."

"That helps." Nick chuckled. "You wanna come?"

"One of us has got to work for a living."

Nick smiled complacently. "I'm retired. Anyway, Gary told me Latimer picked up the Chevelle this afternoon. There's nothing urgent on, is there?"

"I already asked Sam to work," Dean said, fixing his eyes on the television. "Nick, how can you watch this crap?"

Nick glanced at the screen where a giggling chat show guest jiggled across the screen.

"That answer your question?" Nick said dryly as she flashed her boobs for the camera and the audience roared. "An old man has to get his pleasures where he can. You won't change your mind about tomorrow?"

"You and Gary'll have a fine time without me," Dean said firmly. "Anyway, I'm finishing early at the shop - I want to work on the Impala."

Nick glanced at the clock. "You were late in. Doing anything interesting?"

Dean smirked and polished off his chicken. "You could say that."

"Ah, to be twenty-two again," Nick sighed.

-666-

Dean woke with a start, heart pounding. Knuckling his eyes he peered blearily at the glowing numbers of his clock.

"Shit," he muttered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and burying his face in his hands. Sweat slicked his forehead and his hair felt damp and spiky with it. It was past two but he decided on a shower, knowing Nick would have taken his hearing aids off to go to bed.

Habit still had him treading quietly down the hall to the bathroom and carefully cranking the shower up. This wasn't the first time he'd woken in the night, heart in his throat, the sickness of old memories roiling in his gut. But tonight was the worst he could remember for a long time. Dean supposed it was hardly surprising. Being with Sam earlier, fighting those old ghosts, was bound to have stirred up memories he'd been trying to forget for half his life.

The water felt good pounding down on him, washing away the acrid scent of sweat. He stayed under the spray until his fingers began to wrinkle and then he shut it off and engulfed himself in a huge, fluffy towel, sniffing the lemony scent of the fabric softener. Nick had tried to keep everything the same since Renie died, something Dean understood and sympathized with. But at times like this it could be hard - the scent reminded Dean of Renie so much right now his chest ached with it.

How many times had she woken up when Dean had suffered one of his bad nights? Sat quietly in the kitchen with him? Made him tea and patted his hand as she slid the mug across the counter.

She was the closest thing to a mother that Dean could remember, and he missed her terribly. He could only imagine how bad Nick must still feel at times like this. Climbing alone into the big old bed he'd shared with her, the sheets smelling of lemons.

In the kitchen Dean made his own tea, sitting down at the table and inhaling the familiar scent. His thoughts strayed to the nightmare and he sighed and wrapped both hands around the gently steaming mug in front of him. Strange how it was always _him_ that he dreamed of, even after all these years. Not the dark, frightening streets, not the parade of faces and bodies that came after, hard, careless, mocking.

Just him.

Dean shook his head, rubbing at his brow. Dammit but he wasn't going to give that fucker another second of headspace. Hadn't he proved last night that he could overcome this?

Thinking about the night before with Sam chased some of the coldness away and Dean sipped at his tea, warmer memories filling his thoughts. He wondered how Sam was feeling now, hoped the younger man wasn't regretting any of it. He didn't think he would, Sam had looked so happy and confident striding away down the path, back to his world.

Dean's small smile widened as he remembered how Sam had looked an hour or so before that. Mop of hair tousled. Cheeks flushed pink. Eyes heavy and languorous with desire. Dean shivered as he remembered Sam's hands, gripping his waist, sliding over his skin, carding through his hair.

No, Dean didn't think Sam would be regretting anything. But he couldn't help wondering. What did it all mean to Sam? His first time with a guy. Had it been an experiment? Did he still want girls more?

Dean shook his head again, chuckling at himself. He couldn't believe his own thoughts. Next he'd be fretting about whether Sam still respected him.

It would go wherever it went. Dean could only look forward to the ride.

-666-

By quarter past nine the next morning Dean was not so confident. He was working on the fuel pump of a 66 Pontiac GTO, but he couldn't keep his mind on the job and the second time he banged his head on the bonnet craning his neck to see the clock on the wall he cursed and straightened.

Suddenly Sam rushed in the door, dragging his backpack off his shoulder.

"You're late," Dean said coldly before Sam could speak, beating down his pleasure at seeing Sam's flushed face, his windblown hair bringing back sudden memories of the night before.

Sam stopped dead, backpack dangling from his big hand. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "The bus was late." He tossed his bag on the bench and pulled his overalls off the hook. "I'll leave earlier next time," he said worriedly and Dean felt a prickle of guilt.

"It's not a big deal," he said gruffly, leaning back over the engine.

"Gary not here?"

Dean finally managed to pull out the old mechanical fuel pump and he handed it to Sam."Owner wants an electric pump fitted, but we'll keep this one with the spare parts. You want to grab those hoses?"

They worked quietly for a few minutes and Dean shot a quick glance at Sam's absorbed face. He was angry at himself for snapping at the kid, but angrier still at what had prompted it. He'd only known Sam a few days, they'd only had sex once. He should not be so deep into this.

"You mad at me?" Sam asked quietly.

Dean shook his head. "I'm not mad." He fiddled with the filter for a minute longer before giving up and straightening. "I shouldn't have snapped at you," he admitted, pulling a rag from his back pocket and wiping his hands.

"Did you think I wasn't coming?" Sam asked.

He looked so earnest, so worried that Dean had to resist the urge to touch him. Sam certainly wore his heart on his sleeve and Dean didn't know whether to worry or appreciate the fact that he was so open with his thoughts and feelings.

Sam stepped a little closer. "I was worried that you'd think I wasn't coming," he admitted softly.

"Were you?" Dean murmured. How odd was it to have to look up to a lover? Yesterday that had freaked him out a little, but today with the memory of his hands sliding over those strong muscled shoulders...

"Gary isn't coming in, is he?" Sam said, stepping right up into his space now, one greasy hand tentatively resting on Dean's hip.

Dean was breathing harder and now he could smell Sam and the scent filled his nostrils, making him dizzy. Clean sweat, oil, Sam's own musk.

"No," Dean said thickly. "But a customer could." He met Sam's eyes, groaning a little as Sam licked his lips. "Don't do that."

Sam frowned, then tilted his head and chuckled lowly. "Glad I'm not the only one."

Dean couldn't help smirking at that. "You're not," he confirmed. "Now help me finish this. We can close up by twelve."

"And then?"

Dean grinned seductively. "Well, as it happens, my room mate is away for the day. Wanna spend the afternoon at my place?"

"You have a room mate?" Sam asked uncertainly.

"Yeah." Dean leaned over the engine block. "Big Greek guy."

Sam bit his lower lip but then he narrowed his eyes. "Greek guy?"

"Nick," Dean said innocently.

"Your partner Nick?" Sam demanded. "The old guy?" He didn't wait for Dean's answer, taking one look at his smirk and punching him on the shoulder.

"Hey!" Dean objected, although it had been a pretty soft punch.

"You scared the crap outta me," Sam said, and careless of the wide open doors he grabbed Dean's waist and dragged him closer. "I pictured you living with some big hunk."

"Possessive much?" Dean drawled but this time Sam wasn't ducking his head or looking shy.

"Damn right," he said firmly instead.

Lower bodies pressed together they just stood for long moments, staring into each other's faces.

"You're not seeing anyone else, are you?" Sam asked, a little uncertainly.

"Nah." Dean shrugged carelessly. "You?"

Sam shook his head, eyes on Dean's mouth and despite himself Dean parted his lips and tilted his head back as Sam leaned over him.

Luckily they heard the sputtering motor as a car drove up to the wide double doors and they had time to spring apart before the old Ford shuddered to a halt.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Hey, Leon," Dean called back, still feeling the grip of those wide hands on his hips. The morning couldn't go fast enough for him.

-666-

It was after noon by the time they had the shop shut and headed back to Dean's house to work on his car. Sam studied the house curiously as Dean's truck turned into the driveway and pulled up in front of the garage. Nick and Renie had bought the modest little three bedroom home more than forty years ago, back when Midtown was the place to be if you couldn't afford anywhere else. Sam looked around at the slightly overgrown paths and then over at the yellow clapboard home.

"Ronnie used to cut the grass for some extra cash," Dean said, kicking at the weeds. "I guess I'm going to have to find someone else to do it."

"It's a nice place," Sam decided and Dean just shrugged, inordinately glad that Sam approved. It wasn't much, the paint was peeling a bit and you could hear the highway in the distance, but it was the only real home he'd ever known.

"So, why a Chevy Impala?" Sam asked curiously as Dean unlocked the garage doors and swung them open to let in the light. "I mean, of all the classic cars, why this one? " He admired the front end. "Dude, look at all the chrome."

"Yeah, the redesign in '71 took away most of the charm for me. I don't know, Sam," Dean mused. "I just saw her at the auction and fell in love. When I'm done with the engine I'm gonna dip the body."

"What color?"

"I'm thinking... black."

Sam smiled. "What else?"

-666-

Sam was a toucher. He walked around the lounge room, long fingers stroking over the polished wood of the side table, the smooth planes of a decorative plate, the elaborate silver pattern of a photo frame. He picked up the frame and studied the posed figures, the pads of his fingers still sliding appreciatively over the elegant design.

"Your partner?"

"Yeah." Dean leaned in the doorway to the hall, enjoying the sight of Sam in his territory. "Nick and Renie."

Dean could remember gazing at the picture as Sam was doing the first time he came to this house. The young couple smiling side by side were formally dressed and wore wreaths of orange blossoms on their heads. They were both tall and sturdy, her dark hair was pinned up and a mass of brown curls cascaded over the soft blooms. His hair was lighter and brushed back from his brow. The soft flowers on his crown only accentuated the rugged maleness of his broad face and blade of a nose.

"They look happy."

"They were." Sam glanced up at him and Dean shrugged a little. "Renie died last year. Cancer."

Sam's gaze softened. "I'm sorry," he murmured. He looked back down at the picture and carefully replaced it on the sideboard. He picked up a smaller one and grinned. "You haven't changed a bit."

"It was only a few years ago," Dean pointed out. Renie had snapped the picture while he was helping Nick wash the car. He was already soaked and almost helpless with laughter as eight year old Ronnie turned the hose on him one final time.

"Gary's grandson," Sam commented and smiled when Dean raised a brow. "He showed me his picture yesterday while you were at the hospital with Nick."

"You two sure made friends fast." Dean led the way down the hall to the kitchen and flicked the kettle on.

"What's the matter?" Sam said teasingly. "Worried he might have been gossiping about you behind your back?"

Dean's good humor died and he swung around. "What did he say about me?" he asked intensely.

Sam froze in the act of peering in the fridge. "I was joking," he explained blankly.

Dean set his jaw and swung back to the cupboard, grabbing two mugs and placing them on the counter with a thud. Behind him Sam quietly closed the fridge door and when Dean swung around again there was a carton of milk on the table and Sam was leaning against it, studying him carefully.

"Sorry," Dean said lightly.

"I won't pretend I would have stopped him if he had been gossiping," Sam said carefully. "But I wasn't pumping him for info or anything. I'd much rather hear all about the life and times of Dean Petrakos from you."

"It's a very dull story." Dean poured the water over the coffee and carried the steaming mugs to the table.

"Okay." Sam accepted a mug and added a generous dollop of sugar before stirring in the milk. "How about just the part where your name's Petrakos now. Did Nick and Renie adopt you?"

"Hell no," Dean said bluntly, sitting down and adding his own milk and sugar. "I was fifteen when I started working for Nick. I'd been on my own for a year and a half before that."

"Since you were thirteen?" Sam said, sounding appalled. "How on earth did you survive?"

Dean shrugged and smiled with the ease of long practice. "Did you ever see Oliver?"

"Oliver?" Sam repeated dubiously. "As in Oliver Twist?"

"That's the one."

Sam raised a brow in disbelief. "You were a pick pocket?"

"Something like that. It was all very tragic and Dickensian."

"Dickensian?"

"Yeah, what? You think I don't know what that means?" Dean said, looking offended at the disbelief in Sam's tone. He held onto his indignation for about ten seconds and then deflated. "All right, that's what Renie called it when I tried my Oliver Twist story out on her."

Sam shook his head, snorting a laugh. "She sounds like she had your number."

"Oh she did," Dean confirmed. "I never got away with a damn thing around that lady." Sam was still staring at him, slowly stirring his coffee and Dean gave in. "Look, Sam. It was a shitty time in my life, okay? I skipped out on the foster home from hell and lived rough for a while. I really don't like to talk about it."

"I don't blame you," Sam said sympathetically. "It sounds like a nightmare."

_No, it was the nightmare I was running from._

Dean didn't speak his thoughts aloud, he just shrugged. "Nick picked me up hitch hiking from Frisco. He offered me a job and a roof over my head. And I just... stayed."

"And your name? What was it before?"

Dean's throat tightened. "Winchester," he said softly.

"Like the gun?"

"Like the gun."

"It's a pretty cool name."

"I like this one better. I was eighteen when Nick and I talked about me getting my A.S.E. Automotive Service Excellence Certificate," he explained. "He gave me some forms and a couple of them were for a change of name." Dean's throat tightened a little at the memory and he gazed down into his coffee cup. "And he said he and Renie would like me to have their name."

And Dean remembered it like it was yesterday.

_Five years ago..._

Nick handed over the sheaf of brochures and forms. "You have your two years experience already. You'll have no problem passing the written test."

"I'm glad you're confident," Dean said doubtfully, taking the papers and reading the brochure. "Automotive Service Excellence Certificate," he read. "I don't know, Nick. What if I screw up?"

Nick sat down next to him on the step. "Life sentence. Bread and water."

Dean looked at him wryly and the old man shrugged. "Or you could just try again," he suggested.

"I'd be a real mechanic," Dean mused, amazed at the thought. "Officially."

"It's just a piece of paper, Dean," Nick said gently. "But sometimes a piece of paper can mean the world." He cleared his throat and Dean looked up at him curiously. "Er, Renie and I were talking, Dean. And we wondered..."

"What?"

Nick hesitated and seemed to change tack. "You know, we thought about fostering kids ourselves, years ago. When we realized we'd never have any of our own. Wish we had now."

Dean's throat tightened and he looked down blindly at the papers in his hand. "You should have."

Nick nodded. "Well, it's too late for all that. But Renie and I, well... We were thinking. When you take that test..."

Dean frowned quizzically at the old man's discomfort. "What?"

Nick pulled another form out of his jacket and handed it over. Dean read the title three times before it really registered.

"Petition for Change of Name?"

"Well, when you get that A.S.E. We'd like it to be as Dean Petrakos."

The words on the form blurred as Dean gazed at them. It wasn't just the generosity of the offer from the two people he cared most about in the world. It was all that offer signified.

Dean Petrakos.

A new name for a new life.

A name and a life he could be proud of.

Dean could only nod once, but Nick understood, slapping him on the shoulder and climbing to his feet with a creak. "I'm gonna tell Renie," he said cheerfully. "Maybe she'll make us that brandy cake of hers."

"Nick?" Dean managed.

The old man paused, waiting, but Dean couldn't find any words.

A strong, gnarled hand touched his head, scrubbed roughly for a moment, and then Nick was disappearing through the screen door, calling for his wife.

Dean carefully folded the papers and put them in his jacket pocket.

-666-

"Didn't you ever..." Sam hesitated. "Well, I mean, your father. Didn't you want to keep his name?"

An old anger and grief roiled in Dean's belly but he clamped down on it and managed a careless shrug. "How old were you when your parents adopted you?"

Sam frowned a little at the change of subject. "About three."

"I was seven when they took me to the home. A lot of stuff I don't remember, or maybe I remember wrong." Dean shook his head. "But I know that my father dumped us in a motel and split. He never came back. Why the hell would I want to keep his name?"

"Us?" Sam probed gently and Dean stiffened. He didn't talk about the past, with anybody. And Renie had been the only one he'd ever spoken to about his memories, broken and incomplete as they were.

"I don't want to talk about that," Dean said firmly. All of a sudden he wished he had the last hour over again. The last thing he wanted was to talk about those days, to see pity in Sam's eyes.

But Sam just studied him seriously for a few moments and then nodded. "Okay."

Not sure what to make of such an easy acceptance Dean just sat and sipped at his coffee. Was Sam offended? Angry at the snub?

"What's for lunch?"

Nonplussed, Dean had to think about that for a second. "I don't know what we have. I think there's some cold cuts in the fridge."

"Works for me," Sam said, crossing to the fridge and starting to pull out various plates and dishes. "Bread?" he queried.

Dean was still sitting over his cooling coffee and what he later decided was probably a dumb expression on his face, because Sam smiled at him and leaned over, hair flopping over his brow. "That is, if it's sandwiches you're hungry for?" he murmured invitingly.

Dean decided what he was hungry for in about three seconds, and by then he was on his feet and dragging Sam around the table. The younger man didn't seem too surprised by the sudden move, he met Dean halfway and then they were kissing, Dean pressing Sam back against the counter. The world swung wildly and then he could feel the worn surface digging into his back.

"I need a shower," Sam growled against the skin of Dean's throat and Dean clutched broad upper arms and moaned. "I want to see you with water pouring down all over you."

"Fantasy of yours?" Dean panted, tilting his head and letting Sam suck on his neck.

"One of many." Sam pulled back.

"Tell me more."

Sam grinned wolfishly and Dean swallowed hard at the wicked thrust of desire in his loins. "Impossible. In the fantasy my mouth is way too busy for talking."

"Fantasy's good," Dean said weakly. "I am all about the fantasy here."

"You might be sorry you said that," Sam told him as Dean grabbed his hand and led him down the hall to the bathroom. "Cos I have this whole pirate thing going on lately."

"Yoho yoho," Dean smirked, then opened the door and pushed Sam into the bathroom.

-666-

When Renie first got sick Nick and Dean had pulled out the old tub and put in a double shower unit with tiled walls and a recessed seat. As it turned out Renie's cancer had been an aggressive one, by the time the bathroom was finished she was already in hospital. But whenever Dean used the shower he never failed to remember working in here with Nick and Gary, with Gary's grandson Ronnie running around helping out.

Today he didn't give that time a passing thought, except to be grateful to the roomy exterior and smooth tiled walls. Especially when Sam pressed him back against the navy blue tiles and hungrily devoured his lips.

Sam's big hands were braced on either side of his head and Dean closed his eyes against the warm spray of water pouring over them. His own hands were glorying in the feel of Sam's smooth young skin as he stroked down his chest, smoothed over his quivering belly and circled his already hard cock.

"God," Sam muttered against his mouth and Dean's lips curved in satisfaction as he caught Sam's hip with his left hand and drew him closer so his right could work its magic. Sam pressed against him, his own hands now following Dean's lead, stroking, searching, finding Dean's cock and wrapping his hand around its length.

They broke their kiss, leaning into one another now, water beating down on them, hands stroking, pumping, easing off then pushing to the limit. Dean's hips jerked, he wanted to come but he also wanted this to last forever and he finally stilled his hand and caught Sam's lips in one last kiss before sliding down to his knees.

Sam leaned back against the wall, broad shoulders pressed against the slick tiles, hips slightly canted as Dean kissed his flat belly and played in the soft trace of hair arrowing from his navel.

"Dean," he murmured, one big hand curving through wet hair, the other cupping Dean's jaw, thumb stroking his mouth. Dean parted his lips, accepted that thumb, nursed on it for a moment until Sam groaned again and pulled it free with a wet pop. "Please, Dean," he entreated and Dean licked his lips and slanted a glance up the lean strength of Sam's body.

Sam's hips were narrow and his chest tapered up to his wide shoulders. His skin was blushed like a peach, tiny nipples pink and hard, flat belly heaving with every breath. Sam opened his eyes and gazed down at him through damp lashes and then he smiled tenderly. Dean's heart leapt in his chest.

The tiled floor was hard under his knees but Dean felt no discomfort as he parted his lips and accepted Sam inside him. Senses overwhelmed him as he tasted Sam, breathed in the scent of him, felt the jerk of his potent maleness on his tongue. This was all new under Sam's loving touch, long sensitive fingers gripping his skull but not painfully, measured strength guiding Dean's head but not forcefully. Sam was a giving and responsive lover and Dean used every skill he had and some he'd never suspected he possessed to suck him to a tumultuous climax.

Dean swallowed and licked his lips, chuckling a little as he had to brace Sam against the wall in the aftermath. With trembling fingers Sam tugged him upward and Dean collapsed against him gratefully as Sam took his lips, tasted himself on them.

"Sam?" Dean managed as Sam hugged him close.

"Mmm?" Sam's hand was sliding to Dean's cock again and Dean stopped him with a gentle touch.

"Dude, I'm wrinkling up here. Wanna try my bed?"

"But my fantasy," Sam mumbled, drawing back and smiling teasingly.

"Save it," Dean advised. "Besides." He shut down the water and drew the glass doors open. "I have a fantasy too."

Sam accepted a big fluffy towel and rubbed his face. "I hope it involves me taking care of that for you," he said hopefully, nodding to Dean's bobbing cock.

"Duh," Dean smirked. "It also involves my chocolate brown sheets and seeing you spread out all over them."

Sam hooked the towel around Dean's neck and drew him closer. "That's it?" he whispered. "Me and sheets?"

"I'm a simple man." Dean jerked as his shower-sensitive skin rubbed on Sam's taut belly. "Oh, god," he moaned. "With simple needs."

Sam grinned.

-666-

Afternoon sun filtered in through the curtains, golden warm and sprinkled with tiny dust motes as it slanted across the bedroom. Dean's body was humming with satisfaction. In the back of his head he knew Nick would be home in a few hours and low in his belly his stomach told him he'd skipped lunch.

But the rest of his body was slack and warm and supremely contented. He could never remember feeling such a sense of completion after sex. In fact he couldn't remember feeling much of much of anything after sex before Sam. It had been the act itself that was the goal. When that had been achieved the next priority was usually a graceful exit.

Right now Dean didn't want to go anywhere.

"Hey, Dean?" Sam's head rested on Dean's shoulder.

"Hmm?" Dean hummed contentedly.

"About earlier. I didn't mean to pry or anything."

Dean ran his fingers through soft brown locks and sighed. "And I wasn't trying to push you away. I just don't like to remember all that."

Sam shifted and rested his chin on Dean's breast bone, gazing earnestly up at him. "Was it really so bad?"

Dean's heart ached in his chest at the innocent question. Even if he had the words he could never burden Sam with any part of his past. Not this clean young man with only innocent warmth in his eyes. He twirled a soft curl around one finger then simply said: "Yes."

Amazingly Sam's eyes moistened at the stark word, and he bit at his lip as his brow puckered. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"How is that every time we end up in bed you say you're sorry," Dean pointed out in fond exasperation. "You have nothing to apologise for, Sam, so stop saying you're sorry, okay?"

"It's not that kind of sorry," Sam said stubbornly, rolling over and resting on one elbow. Dean instantly missed that warmth down his side and the smooth, soft hair under his fingers. "I'm sorry that you had such a hard time back then. And I'm sorry that..." Here he hesitated, suddenly looking a little uncertain. "I mean, I hope that one day you might want to talk about it. With me."

Dean blinked in surprise. Moments ago he'd been thinking how young Sam looked, but now, with that determined cast to his features, he looked older. Stronger. Even at a moment so fraught with emotion it was still a hell of a turn-on.

"Maybe," Dean agreed, lifting his hand and cupping Sam's shoulder, feeling the flex and play of muscles under the smooth skin. "Keep trying those fantasies out on me and you might wear me down."

Sam chuckled. "Well," he said, lifting his own hand and smoothing over Dean's collar bone. "There was this one..."

-666-

"Sorry to drag you away from the fish."

Gary grinned. "You just wanted to leave early because the beer's all gone."

Nick chuckled, stretching his legs out in Gary's roomy truck. "I've got more in the fridge, if you want to stop for a while?"

"Thanks anyway, I'm waiting on a call tonight."

"Shona?" Nick had always tried to keep his opinions about Gary's errant daughter to himself, but his doubt must have come through in his voice because Gary's answer was swift and defensive.

"She promised. And if she forgets, Ronnie will remember. I had the boy memorize my number before they left. He'll call if he needs me."

"He's a good kid." Nick studied his old friend's profile seriously and Gary shrugged.

"Don't know what I did wrong raising Shona," he said bleakly. "But I was sure I was gonna have a chance to do right by Ronnie."

"They might be back," Nick ventured.

"You mean Shona might dump him back on me," Gary sighed.

"I guess," Nick admitted. "And you didn't do one thing wrong raising that girl. She's made her own choices in life. A man can only do so much for his kids."

The truck pulled up in front of the house and Nick pushed the door open.

"Nick," Gary said and Nick twisted in his seat. "Thanks. I just thought with Ronnie - well, that I could do for him what you and Renie did for Dean. The boy's a credit to you."

Nick nodded agreement. "Don't know what I would have done without him since Renie passed."

"I gotta admit, I thought you were crazy when you first bought him to the shop."

"I remember," Nick chuckled.

"Giving him work, letting him sleep in the back. I thought you were borrowing a world of trouble."

"I remember you said that too."

"But seriously? Other than marrying Renie and hiring me - that boy's the best thing you've ever done."

Nick sat back in his seat, chewing at his lip a little. "I worry about him though, Gary. Dean's nearly twenty-three. He should be out, finding some pretty young thing and marrying her. Making a family of his own. He's so busy looking after me..."

"I don't see you needing that much looking after."

"Not right now. But I hate the thought of becoming dependent on him. Of tying him down. With guilt if nothing else."

"Oh now, come on," Gary chided. "Guilt's got nothing to do with the way Dean is with you. You're not the only one with pride, you know? You ever think Dean might be glad to have the chance to pay you back some, for all you and Renie did for him?"

Nick turned it over in his mind. "I guess," he admitted.

"Then let him. Besides, until he does make that family of his own - you're all he has."

They said their good-byes and Nick watched as the truck disappeared around the corner. He was thinking about Gary's words. Dean was all he had too, now that Renie was gone. Nick felt the ache of her loss every minute, but he had to admit he wasn't quite ready to lay down and die yet, and a lot of that was down to Dean. The last thing Renie had said to him was that she loved him. The second last thing was to ask him to look after Dean.

It was a promise Nick intended to keep.

The house was quiet but Dean's truck was out back and Nick headed for the bathroom and his medicine cabinet, thinking he might get away with forgetting to take his pills with him, if Dean was busy in the garage.

And then he heard the voices from Dean's room. Masculine voices, one Dean's and one a stranger.

Nick froze in shock, frowning as he listened to the low exchange, unable to make out any words but sure now that he didn't know the other voice. In all the years Dean had lived here he'd never brought a woman home, not to Nick's knowledge anyway. Nick had appreciated it, being old fashioned enough not to want a parade of Dean's bed partners draped over the breakfast table every weekend.

And now he had brought someone home, and it was a man?

Nick and Dean had never spoken of that year and a half that Dean had spent in the city after running from his last foster home. Details had been kept to a bare minimum, with Dean only revealing how long he'd been on his own, and how old he was now. But Nick was no fool, he'd been sixty-three back then, and he knew enough of the world to know what he was seeing when he picked the hitch-hiking boy up.

Long dyed blonde bangs. Bruised lips, wrists, slight hitch in his step. And those eyes, big and green and haunted, eyes that had seen too much in a fifteen year old face, white teeth biting his lip as he curved back against the door of the pickup, keeping as far away from Nick as possible.

Nick often thought how different it all could have been. If they hadn't broken down on the highway. If Dean hadn't peered curiously under the hood as Nick checked it over. If they hadn't got to talking, and Nick hadn't mentioned that he was looking for someone to help around the shop, maybe train up a bit. If Nick hadn't handed Dean a business card.

Even then it had been days before Dean showed up, face grubby, looking hungry and desperate.

So, no details, but Nick had a fair idea what Dean had done, and had taken some guesses of his own about what had been done to him to start it all off. Which made it all the more worrying that he was standing here now while Dean had a man in his room.

Nick dismissed out of hand that Dean might have gone back to his old ways. That desperate kid was long gone, replaced by a proud young man who had earned the right to be a partner in Nick's business. To be invited to share Nick and Renie's name. But what if he'd been coerced in some way? Nick had no idea what kind of scars a childhood like Dean's had left behind. Had someone pressured him? Some older guy maybe, persuasive, charming. What if...

And then Dean laughed and a beat later another laugh joined in, and it was husky and intimate and completely contradicted every thought in Nick's head.

As well as waking him up to the fact that he was eavesdropping.

Quietly he made his way out onto the porch and dropped down into a chair.

So, not forced then. Which left Nick in the unenviable position of being a little uncomfortable about this.

Because it was one thing to know what Dean had done as a child, a victim. But it was another thing to accept that Dean... his boy... was in there with a man.

"You're an old fool," he told himself, and maybe he was. But he was seventy, dammit. And in his day boys grew up and married girls. And if they didn't they had the decency to go off to the city or New York or someplace and do it far away.

Which was a sobering thought, because he'd just got through telling Gary he didn't know what he'd do without Dean now. He sure didn't want the boy feeling like he had to run off somewhere else every time he wanted to... When he felt the need to...

Nick shrugged and grimaced. This was ridiculous. He wasn't going to skulk around outside his own home just because Dean had taken some guy to his bed. He could deal with it.

So he stumped into the house and let the screen door slam behind him. He opened up the fridge with a rattle and pulled out a bottle of beer, hearing Dean's door open down the hall as he slammed it shut.

"Dean, you home?" he called out.

There was a flurry of sound and Nick almost laughed as he made himself comfortable at the table and threw back a swallow of beer.

"Nick," Dean said, rushing into the room. He was barefoot and doing up his shirt over his jeans. His hair was every which way and he was buttoning up the shirt all wrong. "I thought you said six."

"I forgot my pills," Nick said shortly, because he wasn't going to sneak around and pretend he hadn't, not in his own home.

"Oh, right." Dean looked down the hall and Nick glanced at the doorway as the stranger from Dean's bed made his first appearance.

Nick was glad he was sitting down.

He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, now that he thought about it. One of those guys from the city maybe, all slick hair and pink shirts. Someone older, sleazier. Something.

But this... kid. Looked about eighteen or nineteen, fresh faced and blushing. He was tall, and masculine enough, his big, raw knuckled hands smoothing down the front of his hooded sweat, his brown mop all shaggy and tumbled.

But he was so far from sleazy, or predator, or just not-good-enough-for-his-boy that Nick almost laughed.

He stopped himself just in time because Dean and and the kid both looked embarrassed enough.

"Visitor?" he said, feeling an ache slough away from his chest.

"Uh, this is Sam," Dean ventured. "Sam Fielding. Sam, this is Nick Petrakos."

"Sir," Sam said politely, thrusting out a paw. Nick took it and shook hands, appreciating the boy's firm grip and polite manner. "We spoke on the phone," Sam offered and Nick nodded.

"I recall. Phil Nash spoke highly of you. Said he'd have hired you on the spot if you hadn't gotten that scholarship."

Sam blushed again, a sweep of red across clear, youthful skin and Nick gestured to a chair. "Help yourself to a beer, son, and sit down. Dean, get my pills from the cabinet, would you?"

"Uh, sure," Dean said, exchanging a look with Sam. "Get me a beer too?"

Sam pulled two from the fridge and sat down on one of the hard wooden chairs.

Nick was feeling magnanimous. Turned out he was okay with Dean's choice after all, in fact he couldn't remember exactly what had bothered him about the idea. Wasn't he always on at the boy to go out and find someone? Enjoy himself?

Six foot four and wide shoulders wasn't exactly what Nick had had in mind, but it was all good.

So long as Dean was happy.

Dean just looked kind of nervous when he rushed back in the kitchen with Nick's pills, but in a few minutes Nick had everyone pretty relaxed with his story about the tiddlers he and Gary had caught and thrown back. The conversation switched to cars and Nick poked fun at Dean's Chevy while Sam grinned and drained his beer. Eventually Dean suggested nachos for supper, and he and Sam worked together at the counter to assemble the meal while Nick twiddled with the radio and found a nice easy listening station for the background music.

After dinner they watched a DVD and laughed at all the funny places.

And it was the best night Nick remembered in... a year.

-666-

"I like Nick," Sam said. "He's great."

"He liked you too." They pulled up in front of Sam's dorm and Dean twisted in his seat.

Sam was biting his lip with a nervous gesture. "You think he knows what we were doing?"

Dean snorted. "Oh yeah."

Sam grimaced and peered into Dean's face. "How do you feel about that?"

Dean shrugged. "Honestly? I'm okay. Mainly cos Nick was okay."

"You care about what he thinks," Sam stated. "I get that. I'm just trying to imagine how I'd feel if my Dad had found me with you like that. I think I'd be freaking about now."

"Nick's not my dad," Dean reminded him. "I was practically grown up when I met him. He's never pried into my private life before, I don't think he'll start now."

"So, we're okay?"

Dean lifted a hand and cupped Sam's smooth young cheek, stomach tightening as Sam tilted his head into the warmth of Dean's palm and half closed his eyes. Dean gently stroked his thumb over his mouth and Sam parted his lips and the tip of his tongue darted out.

"We're fine," Dean managed hoarsely. "Sam."

Their lips met gently and they just kissed for long moments, tongues touching, tasting, exploring and then retreating. The kisses that led to their love making had been tempestuous and wild, looking for the promise of passion to come. But these kisses were kisses just for their own sake, and they were filled with such sweetness Dean felt his throat tightening.

They were supposed to be saying good-bye, but Dean was scooting over the cracked, old vinyl seat, and Sam met him in the middle. Now their hands were stroking as they kissed languorously, soft sighs and panting breaths gently steaming the truck's interior.

"We're necking like teenagers without a perfectly good bed back home," Dean sighed, head tilting back as Sam mouthed his jaw line and down to his throat.

"With Nick there?" Sam said breathlessly, drawing back a little.

"Did you happen to notice Nick's hearing aids? He takes them off to go to bed."

"We can't go back now," Sam said, but he looked mighty tempted all the same.

"I'll talk to him," Dean offered impulsively. "About you staying over another time."

"So there will be another time?"

Dean's hand had squirreled under Sam's sweat shirt and was smoothing over his ribs, blunt thumb rubbing Sam's tiny nipple to hardness beneath the soft cotton.

"Oh, I definitely think we're beyond that question," Dean murmured as the small nub tightened under his touch and Sam's eyes glazed a little.

"I, er, I have to study tomorrow," Sam sighed reluctantly. "But maybe tomorrow night?"

"I'll talk to Nick."

-666-

Nick was sitting in the dark living room watching TV. Some newscaster was droning away and the old man was snoozing gently. He opened his eyes and snorted awake as Dean peeked in the door.

"I thought you'd be in bed," Dean murmured, flicking on a lamp and shutting off the TV.

"I thought you might want your mind putting at rest." Nick raised a bushy brow and peered at him. "Don't look so worried, I'm not gonna give you a hard time. This is your home, Dean. You're welcome to bring anyone you like into it."

"It's your home too," Dean said carefully, sitting down on the edge of the couch.

"I've been telling you for a while to find someone," Nick reminded him. "I'm just glad you finally took my advice."

Dean shook his head. "It's not like that."

"Like what?" Nick said curiously. "Like those floozies you usually pick up?"

Dean rolled his eyes and sat back on the couch.

"Yeah, I know," Nick chuckled. "You've heard this lecture from me before. So what's different with Sam?"

Dean tried to consider that seriously but couldn't keep the smirk on his face from turning into a chuckle. A beat later Nick was joining him and they were both laughing fit to burst.

"All right, all right," the old man panted as he heaved himself up from his chair. Dean sprang up and grasped his elbow and Nick let him, standing for a moment as he caught his breath, still snorting and chuckling. "I'll keep my big Greek nose out of it." Dean let go of his arm and flicked the lamp back off as they left the room. "Just do me a favor?"

Dean paused at the door to his bedroom.

"Just treat that boy right. I like him." Nick patted Dean's shoulder and trod the worn carpet to his own room.

"I like him too," Dean said softly.

End of Part Two.


	3. Chapter 3

**Old Ghosts**

Part Three

By Gillian

Dean fiddled with his pen, staring down at the notepad in front of him, but hardly seeing the names and numbers, figures and doodles. He'd spent the afternoon chasing receipts and spare parts and now the clock was ticking towards three and he couldn't keep his mind on his work for longer than a few minutes at a time.

Sam would be here soon.

A set of keys lay on the blotter and Dean's glance flicked to them and back to his pen. His nerves were stretched to breaking point and he was starting to think he'd made a huge mistake. It was too soon for this, he and Sam had only known each other for a week. They'd had sex a handful of times. Sam hadn't even stayed overnight at the house yet.

What if he took offence at this? What if he hated the car but he didn't like to say so?

Dean wished he was better at reading people, but it was a skill he'd never really developed. Nick told him he pushed too damn hard, switching on the charm like a 200 watt light bulb. For Dean it was more like a light to blind people to all the things he didn't want them to see.

Mostly he just did his job, picked up women occasionally and then went home.

Until Sam.

Dean looked at the clock for the hundredth time in the last ten minutes and exhaled noisily. At this rate he was going to go crazy before Sam got here.

_Play it cool,_ he lectured himself, picking up the keys and pocketing them. _Sam's a big boy, if he doesn't like the damn car he'll say so. Just relax._

All the same he was out in the shop's front lot, bouncing on the balls of his feet as Sam appeared, long stride eager as he hurried down the road. Sam had his backpack slung over his shoulder and the afternoon breeze stirred his brown hair. With careless grace he lifted one hand and swept it back off his brow.

Dean remembered those fingers stroking through his hair and he shivered. He had it bad.

"Hey!" Sam greeted as he turned in the gates. "Am I late?"

"Nah," Dean said, fighting to appear casual. "I just wanted to show you something." He gestured behind him with his thumb and Sam looked over his shoulder curiously.

"The Camaro?" he queried. Dean strolled over to the parked car with him, heart pounding. Sam ran a hand down the hood. "She needs some work," Sam commented.

"It's a fixer upper all right," Dean agreed. "But it runs, and the engines got a lot of life in it. I picked her up in trade for some work I did on the owner's Nomad."

Sam shot him a surprised look. "It's yours?"

Dean shrugged, then pulled the keys out of his pocket. "It's just sitting here, taking up space. I was gonna trick it out some and sell it on, but then I thought..."

Sam tilted his head curiously.

Dean shrugged, losing patience with himself. "I thought you might want to drive it." He thrust out the keys and Sam automatically reached for them.

"Me?" He looked down at the keys dangling from the leather key ring. "You're lending me a car?"

"Seems stupid to be taking the bus everywhere," Dean said shortly.

Sam half shook his head, looking from Dean to the car and back again. "Dean," he began slowly.

"It's all right if you don't like it," Dean said hastily. "I understand."

"No, are you kidding me?" Sam breathed. "I love it." He ran his hand over the front end again, fingers lingering. Dean took a deep breath and fought that spark of arousal. "It just seems like... too much."

"She's just sitting there taking up space until I have time to work on her." Dean said, shrugging like it was no big deal. "Think of the time you'd save if you didn't have to ride the bus everywhere."

"I could help you fix her up," Sam suggested. "On my own time, not work time. Kind of like rent."

"You don't have to."

Sam smiled at him. "Come on, it's a good deal for both of us. What do you say?"

Dean gave in. He had no intention of taking the car back and this way he could even help Sam fix her up, make her better.

"Deal," he said, holding out his hand. Sam took it, warm calloused palm sliding over his, long fingers closing, caressing.

"Deal," Sam said softly. "Thanks, Dean."

-666-

Dean gave himself a few lectures over the next week. To slow down. To stop thinking about Sam every moment they were together.

To start thinking ahead for a change.

Because really, how long could all this last? Dean didn't have any experience with relationships, but even the ones he knew of with everything going for them seemed to fall apart on a regular basis. And then there was him and Sam.

They were both guys, for one thing. Nick seemed to have taken it in stride, and although Dean had seen Gary give the pair of them some sidelong looks lately, the other man didn't seem too concerned. Dean couldn't help thinking though, if straight couples could fall apart, what chance did he and Sam have?

And then there was the gulf between them. Pre-law Sam from Perfect Family, USA. And Dean Petrakos. Lately Dean Petrakos of Petrakos Auto, formerly Dean Winchester, The Gutter.

That was what Dean thought about mostly these days, when Sam wasn't there to distract him. Because Sam had told Dean all about his father and his mother and his little sister. About his dog, Buster, about his old school and even his old girlfriend, until he'd wisely decided that Dean did not want to hear about her.

And Dean hadn't shared one damned thing about his past with Sam.

Sam was the curious type. He always wanted to know why and how - it was what made him a good mechanic. Dean could only guess at how difficult it was for Sam now, to have so many questions and keep them all bottled up inside.

They were bound to come busting out, sometime soon.

-666-

"Hey, Dean?"

It was Saturday again, and Nick was out with some of his old buddies. They'd lasted an hour working on the Impala this time, before Sam had decided they both desperately needed a shower, and for the sake of water conservation they should have it together.

Water conservation didn't work when you spent forty-five minutes under the shower.

"Hmm?"

"What are we doing?"

Dean looked around at the tumbled bed and cocked a quizzical brow. "Basking in the afterglow?" he ventured teasingly.

Sam punched him on the arm. "C'mon, man, I'm serious. We fall into bed every chance we get."

"And the downside to that is?"

Sam shook his head. "You know what I'm saying."

Dean quirked a brow. "Actually, Sam, I'm not sure I do."

"I guess I'm saying, when I'm with a girl I know what I'm doing, you know? I know the difference between something that's going nowhere and something that might go somewhere. I know dates and flowers and meeting the parents."

"Hey, you've met Nick. he's the closest thing I have to a parent."

"Nick coming home and us jumping out of bed like guilty teenagers is not exactly an ideal first meeting."

"Sam, you are a teenager."

"Whereas you just act like one," Sam said in exasperation. "I just want to know where I am with you, that's all."

Dean shrugged and gestured. "I don't know what to tell you, Sam. I've never really dated... anybody, now I think about it."

Sam sat up, sheet falling to his waist. "You're kidding me."

"What can I say? I'm the no-strings-attached king. I've never even brought anybody back here before."

Sam quirked a small smile. "Really? I'm the only lover you've ever brought home?"

"Yeah," Dean mimed a punch at Sam's shoulder now. "And just to add the girly icing to the cake, you're the only lover I've ever had as well. The rest..." Dean shrugged. "It was all just sex."

Sam stared at him, dumbfounded.

"So that's where we are," Dean said, the silent stare making him uncomfortable. "I don't know what else to tell you."

Sam shook his head slowly. "You don't need to tell me anything else," he murmured. He leaned forward, his hair caressing his brow. Dean kept his eyes open as Sam pressed a soft kiss to his lips, then blinked as Sam drew back nestled into his side.

"That's it? That's all you wanted to know?"

"Yeah," Sam said comfortably.

Dean shook his head. "Dude, you're too easy." But he lifted his hand and slid his fingers through Sam's hair in a gentle caress.

"Oh, wait, there's one more thing." Sam sprang up and Dean sighed.

"What now?"

"I know we were joking before, but this is exclusive, right? We don't see anyone else."

Dean considered this. "Is that what you want?"

"Hell, yes!" Sam looked anxious. "Why, isn't that what you want?"

Dean couldn't imagine wanting anyone else while he had Sam. He tried to imagine how it would feel if Sam wanted anyone else and he found he didn't enjoy the sensation at all. "Exclusive sounds good," he conceded.

Sam sighed out a relieved breath. He settled back down, snuggling his tousled head under Dean's chin. "Good," he said in tones of satisfaction.

Dean caressed Sam's head again. "Yeah, you're all contented as long as you get your own way," he chuckled. "It's like sleeping with a big cat."

"Cat?" Sam murmured, one hand stroking down Dean's chest and onto his flat belly, blunt nails scritching. Dean's flesh tingled and quivered back to life under the firm caress, muscles in his belly contracting as Sam flattened the palm of his hand just below Dean's navel. Crisp curls tickled his fingertips and he scratched gently again. Sam chuckled under his breath. "If I'm the cat," he murmured into Dean's ear. "How come you're the one purring?"

Sweeping Dean into his arms, Sam found his mouth and they kissed eagerly, feeding off one another with long ravenous kisses that left their lips swollen when they finally drew away.

"I want you," Sam growled, one lean thigh thrusting between Dean's legs. His hand swept down Dean's back, into the hollow at the small of his back and then down further, to the dusky crease of Dean's ass. "God, Dean, I want you."

Dean shivered as long fingers stroked him there. So far he and Sam had pleased each other with hands and mouths, and it had been more than enough for Dean. But now Sam wanted more, and Dean felt a sick jolt in his belly at the thought. He'd survived on the streets any way he could, and yeah, one way had been in alleys, public toilets, parked cars. But all that had gone only as far as he let it - no matter how empty his belly was, no matter how much they offered.

Dean didn't let anyone fuck him. He'd tried once, in the beginning, but had ended up puking all over the potential customer.

Sam was kissing him, murmuring in his ear, and Dean held him, let him kiss unresponsive lips, turn him on his side, press one finger to that tiny pucker.

Maybe he could, for Sam, he thought, wondering how he could feel so cold with Sam's skin burning his back. He closed his eyes, grimacing as that long finger circled, left for a moment and came back wet. Broached his body just a fraction.

He'd done everything else, hadn't he? Fought the old ghosts that rose up and threatened to smother him when he first went on his knees for Sam, when Sam touched him a certain way, pressed him down on the bed. Surely, Dean thought, he could get through this for Sam.

And then that encroaching finger left him and Sam's heat was drawing away and Dean could only lay there, cold and alone, shivering.

"Why did you stop?" he tried to say.

"Are you kidding?"

Sam's voice was cold, hard, and Dean closed his eyes, fumbling for the covers and drawing them up over him. What the hell was Sam so angry about anyway? Dean was going to let him, wasn't he?

"If you don't want me, Dean, just say so," Sam said harshly and Dean felt the mattress shift as Sam rolled off the bed. "Christ, you think I want you laying there like corpse?"

_Sorry it's no fun for you, _he wanted to say, but his jaw was clamped tight and he only realised why a moment later when he took a breath and it came out a sob. "Oh god," he mumbled, turning his face into the pillow. _Just leave, Sam, _he thought. _Please, just fucking leave._

"Dean?" A tentative hand touched his shoulder and Dean shook it off, swung his feet off the bed, sat up. He was still cold, shudders wracking his body, but damned if he was gonna lay there shivering like some little virgin on her wedding night.

"Dean, are you okay?" The hardness had left Sam's voice and that was just so much worse. Dean clenched his jaw and opened his eyes. Sam had pulled on his shorts and he was squatting in front of Dean, all long legs and arms, face worried beneath his brown mop of hair.

"I'm fine. Maybe you should just go." And if Dean's voice was a little shakier than usual, he wasn't going to worry too much about it.

"I'm not going anywhere," Sam said quietly. He reached out to touch Dean's shoulder, but Dean flinched away. Right at this moment he couldn't stand the thought of being touched, he felt as if he were shrouded in ice and that he might shatter at the slightest contact. "Please, Dean," Sam pleaded. "Please tell me what I did wrong?"

A little of the ice melted at the naked pain in Sam's voice. He looked so young right now, and Dean felt so old. A thousand memories welled up inside him and he wanted to spew them out, expel that poison from his body once and for all. He wanted to feel clean again, worthy of someone like Sam, whose eyes had filled with tears of worry.

"You didn't do anything wrong." Dean swallowed hard but it was too much, the gorge had risen in his throat and he was on his feet, pushing past Sam, choking as he fled across the hall and made it to the toilet just in time. He retched, eyes filling with involuntary tears, belly cramping as lunch and two beers came back up the hard way, burning his throat, choking him, racking his body.

Finally the shuddering spasm stopped and he realized a warm hand was holding his head, and another was softly stroking his trembling belly. "Shit," Dean swore, spitting and gagging at the foul taste.

"Hold on." Sam left his side and returned a moment later with a glass of water and a cool damp face cloth. Dean rinsed and spat, grimacing at the disgusting odor from the toilet. Sam pushed the lid down and wiped at his face with the cloth. Closing his eyes, Dean sighed under the gentle touch.

"Must have been a bad burrito," Dean said thickly. He staggered to his feet, Sam's long arm at his waist. Legs trembling he collapsed on the toilet seat.

"You had a sandwich for lunch," Sam reminded him quietly. "Same as me." He stroked the cloth over Dean's chin, eyes downcast. "Come on, let's get you back to bed."

Dean didn't want to go back to that tumbled bed, still smelling of their earlier love making. He wanted to get dressed and get in his truck and just drive until this whole afternoon was a distant memory.

But Sam's gentle arm around his waist reminded him of earlier that afternoon, how they'd squirmed and laughed together under the shower spray. How Sam had come in his mouth, then kissed him afterwards, his lips gentle, his hands tender. How they'd snuggled together under the thin sheet and enjoyed the caress of the afternoon sun on their bodies and the gentle breeze through the open window.

Dean collapsed onto the edge of the bed, feeling the burn of the vomit in his throat and the sting of tears behind his eyes. And now Sam would leave and all Dean had to do was get through that and start to get over it.

It had all been a pretty stupid dream anyway, hadn't it?

Sam lifted a folded blanket from the seat at the end of the bed and draped it around Dean's shoulders. He squatted back on the floor at Dean's feet.

"Want to tell me again that it wasn't my fault?" Sam said quietly.

"It wasn't," Dean repeated, just wanting to get this over with. "It wasn't you, Sam, it was me, okay?"

"You were fine until I... Why didn't you just tell me no, if you didn't want it?" Sam burst out and Dean winced.

"I thought I could do it," Dean managed, figuring he owed the kid this much explanation at least.

"You thought you could do it?" Sam repeated uncomprehendingly. "What?"

Dean lifted a hand to his head, it felt thick and fuzzy and he wondered if he really was coming down with something. "I thought if I just let you do it then it'd be okay," he tried to explain. "Like the other times, I didn't think I could, but I did. For you."

"Other times?" Sam was saying, rising to his feet. Dean looked up, realized what he'd said, closed his eyes. "What other times?" There was a dawning horror in Sam's voice but Dean was speechless, unable to think clearly enough to make Sam understand. "You've felt like that before, with me?"

"No," Dean managed, but Sam was backing up, stepping away.

"You were just gonna let me fuck you?" he said incredulously. "When you didn't want to? What else have you let me do that you didn't want? Jesus, Dean, I made you sick!"

"No, you didn't!" Dean leapt to his feet, swayed but kept his balance. His head was clearing and his chest was aching at the pain in Sam's voice. Suddenly it didn't matter if Sam left, if he blamed him, if he hated him. He had to make Sam understand.

"None of this is you, okay? I've loved everything we've done together, Sam, you know that."

Sam was looking at him in disbelief, face still a mask of horror.

"Sam, think about it," Dean said as firmly as he could manage. "You've been right there with me, haven't you? Do you think anyone could fake that?"

Sam's expression faded to confusion and pain. "No," he whispered. "But you... You looked... You hated it, Dean. Don't try to tell me that wasn't because of what I was doing."

"I swear to you," Dean said, taking another step forward. "I swear, this wasn't your fault. Sam?"

Sam reached out tentatively and Dean let him touch his shoulder, bracing himself as Sam's wide palm spread over his flesh. And then it was like the ice cracked and broke, and Dean couldn't help it, he stepped closer, into the circle of Sam's arms, forehead coming to rest on his wide shoulder. "I'm sorry, Sam."

Sam stood for a moment, then his arms curved around Dean and held him close. "I'm sorry too," he said back. Long moments passed and Dean felt his body slowly thaw at the warmth of Sam's skin, his touch, his scent. "Dean?"

Dean heard the question in his voice, knew it was time, hated the thought.

"Yeah," he said, resigned. This wasn't just about him any more. He'd drawn Sam into this, and for Sam's sake he could get this story out. Then if Sam wanted to leave, at least he'd know that none of this had been his fault. This particular die had been cast a long time ago.

"I need to know, Dean," Sam began carefully. "Have I ever hurt you, or done something you didn't want me to do?"

Dean shook his head. "No," he answered simply. "But you're the only male lover I ever chose, Sam. And at first some things... were difficult."

Sam nodded his head, pain flickering over his face. "That first time," he recalled quietly. "When I was laying on top of you and you pushed me away."

"Yeah," Dean said, frowning a little at the memory. At how long ago that seemed. "But that was just fleeting stuff, Sam, I swear. You held me and we kissed and it was all right because I knew it was you and not-" Dean broke off, trying to frame the words in his head. With a shock of surprise he realized he'd never said it aloud before.

"Not him?" Sam said and Dean jerked in surprise. "Somebody hurt you," Sam said flatly. "It doesn't take a genius to figure that out."

Dean could only stand silently in the circle of Sam's arms.

"Was it why you ran away?"

Dean bit the inside of his mouth and nodded. If he was lucky he wouldn't even have to tell the story, just let Sam guess what he wanted to. But Sam was already clamming up, tilting his head, looking at him.

"It was the last foster home I was at," Dean finally said when the silence had stretched to breaking point.

"The foster home from hell," Sam recalled painfully. "When you were thirteen."

"I was twelve, when it started," Dean said. "I-" He shook his head, hating this, wanting it to be over. He didn't want to tell this story, didn't want to put the old nightmares into words.

"It's okay," Sam said suddenly and Dean's gaze flew to him. "You don't have to tell me if it's too hard." There was pain in Sam's eyes and in his voice and Dean felt a shock of self loathing. He was already doing it, he realized. He was already spoiling things with Sam, robbing him of some of that innocence. Sam didn't need to hear a sordid story like this. Sam didn't need to be near somebody like him.

Dean pulled away and crossed to the dresser, pulling open the top drawer and grabbing a clean pair of shorts.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was puzzled, worried.

Dean pulled the shorts on, tugged a soft old t-shirt over his head, feeling better as he put a layer between him and Sam.

"Dean, you don't have to-"

"I think you should go," Dean said coolly, leaning back against the dresser.

Sam frowned in confusion. "What?"

"This isn't gonna work," Dean said calmly. "You don't belong here."

"Don't say that," Sam pleaded..

"I mean it, Sam." Dean met Sam's eyes, fought to keep his voice steady. "That ugly little story is just the tip of the iceberg."

"What do you mean?" Sam's voice was shaky but Dean ignored it, concentrated on keeping his own composure.

"I mean I made a mistake. I thought I could turn my back on the past and pretend it didn't exist, but I can't. It's always there, laying in wait, ready to trip me up."

"But you were a victim," Sam said insistently. "You were child."

"I'm not a child any more. I don't want pity or sympathy."

"I understand that," Sam said urgently. "But-"

"So maybe you should just-"

"Stop telling me to go," Sam interrupted angrily. "I'm not gonna go!"

Sam sounded older when he got angry, Dean mused. His voice got deeper.

Sam stepped closer, big hands clenching by his sides. "Why are you pushing me away?" he demanded. "If you don't want to tell me what that monster did to you, then fine. Don't. But don't tell me to turn my back on you and walk out. Because I won't."

"Sam-"

"And don't tell me not to feel pity or sympathy either," Sam continued, taking another step forward. "Because I would feel the same thing for anybody it happened to."

"I'm not just anybody!"

"No, you're my lover!" Sam bellowed. His chest rose and fell with angry breaths.

Dean blinked.

Sam took that last step forward and into Dean's personal space. "You said that yourself, Dean. Just a little while ago."

_A lifetime ago_.

"You said I was your first lover, Dean. You can't take that back now." Sam's voice was low and firm, his eyes steady.

"Sam," Dean whispered. He shook his head, gazing into Sam's eyes, willing him to understand. "There's so much you don't know. You deserve so much better than m-"

Sam leaned forward, laid his lips on Dean's, not kissing, not moving, just stopping the flow of painful words. "I don't want to go," Sam said simply, drawing back a scant inch, his breath cool on Dean's skin. "Do you want me to go?"

Dean knew he should say he did. Sam didn't know it all yet, not the whole dirty little story.

But he didn't want Sam to go, and Sam saw that in his eyes, his own eyes fluttering closed for a second in relief. He pressed forward again, a real kiss this time, just for a moment.

"You don't have to tell me," Sam said. "But if you want to I'll listen."

"You might want to go, once you hear it." Dean's chest clenched at the thought.

"Try me," Sam challenged.

"I was..." Dean broke off, throat tight. Sam's hands came up and caught his arms, held him still and only then did Dean realize he was swaying unsteadily. "He raped me," Dean got out, and Sam's face crumpled, but he was nodding, and drawing Dean closer.

"I've got you," Sam murmured.

Dean held tight, rode out the tremors of pain that racked him. He swallowed hard, throat still raw and then it was coming out of him, rising up and pouring out. "He came into my bedroom every night," he panted. "Touched me. Made me touch him. It went on for months, but when he..." Dean broke off, choked, couldn't say it again. Sam nodded, soft brown hair stroking his cheek. "That's when I ran away."

"Couldn't you tell anyone?" Sam asked, hands stroking his back gently.

Dean shook his head automatically. "I didn't trust anyone," he muttered. "I never did, until Nick. And Renie." Fresh grief racked him and Sam held him closer. "Sam," he keened, gripping Sam's arms tightly. "I didn't care about anything for such a long time. I did things, Sam, to survive. You... I..."

"Shh," Sam said, pulling Dean's head into the crook of his neck. "Enough, Dean, enough. I understand, okay? I get it."

Dean shook his head, pulling back. "No, Sam, you don't. You don't know what I did, what I was."

"It doesn't matter what you did," Sam said intensely. "And I know what you were."

Dean froze in surprise.

"A victim," Sam continued firmly.

"I hustled for money," Dean said baldly. "That's when I wasn't stealing, or rolling drunks, or eating other peoples leftovers."

Sam nodded, eyes sad. "Yeah," he said softly. "I figured."

"You did?" Dean said blankly.

Sam sighed. "Dean, you were thirteen. I didn't think you survived investing in dot com companies."

"You understand what I mean," Dean faltered. "What I did."

"There's a reason it's against the law to have sex with minors." Sam lifted his hand, cupped the side of Dean's neck tenderly. "It's because they're not able to give consent. They might think they are, they might feel like they're making decisions, but bottom line? You were a victim of every creep who laid a hand on you." Sam's face, usually so young and open, closed up, his lips pressed together until they were thin line. For a moment he looked brutal, primal. "I'd like to find every one of them and kill them for you."

And Dean shivered, not because he felt an ounce of threat from Sam, but because he believed him.

"You shouldn't have to hear any of this," Dean said fiercely, hating that he put that look on Sam's face. "You deserve so much better than this."

"You said that before," Sam said, frowning a little. "Dean, I wanted you the minute I saw you. I wanted to be with you, make love with you, stand by your side. But I never for one moment thought that meant only rainbows and flowers. If you're in pain, I want to be here to help you through it."

"I never wanted you to know all that stuff."

"And I wish none of that stuff had ever happened to you. But it did, and now I know about it." Sam smiled gently. "I want to know everything about you. The bad and the good."

Dean let Sam hold him, draw him back to the bed, even lay down beside him. But he couldn't shake the feeling that somehow it had all been spoiled. Tainted.

Things would never be the same between them again.

-666-

It was full dark when Dean opened his eyes again, and he blinked in surprise, not even realizing he'd fallen asleep. The window was closed, the curtains drawn and Dean didn't need to grope for the lamp to know that Sam was gone. He was alone in his big bed.

Dean dressed slowly, pulling on warm, grey sweatpants and a hooded sweater. He wondered how it would go. Would Sam keep coming to work and just avoid him? Or would it go slower, would he pull away a little at a time?

The second, Dean decided, pulling on warm tube socks but not bothering with shoes. Sam was too kind to just walk away.

Nick had the TV blaring away but Dean walked right past the living room, not bothering to remind him to turn his hearing aid up. He didn't want to see Nick right now, didn't want him asking about Sam. Walking down the hall to the kitchen Dean could hear a pan sizzling on the stove and he hurried to the door, worried that Nick had graduated to absent mindedness now. Had he put something on to cook and forgotten about it?

Sam was standing in front of the stove with a kitchen towel wrapped around his narrow waist. He turned as Dean hurried through the door and flashed him a grin.

"My mother always said the smell of bacon could rouse the dead." He poked at the fry pan with the metal spatula. "How you feeling?"

Dean stared for a moment in surprise.

"I'm making BLT's," Sam said, flicking him a glance. "Butter the bread, will you?"

"I thought you were gone," Dean said blankly.

Sam lifted the pan and turned the stove off. "I told you. I'm not going anywhere. Bread?" he said pointedly.

Dean gave it up for the moment, opening the bread box and pulling out a loaf. Sam was probably just doing what Dean had thought he'd do. He would pull away slowly. Dean buttered, Sam assembled sandwiches and plated up.

"I'll get Nick," Sam said. "Pour the beer, okay?" He paused by the door and caught Dean's eye again. "I'm really not going anywhere," he said again.

"Right," Dean muttered, putting three beers on the table. A moment later he jumped as wide hands encircled his waist and he was drawn back against Sam's body.

"I love you," Sam murmured in his ear.

Then Dean was just left standing there with the kitchen door swinging and his mouth open in surprise.

"What?"

-666-

After dinner Nick went back to his TV and they sat out on the porch watching the stars. Sam was sitting comfortably on the swing, long legs braced in front of him and rocking gently.

"You're quiet," he observed.

Dean grimaced. "I feel like an idiot."

Sam tilted him a glance. "Why? Because you were vulnerable in front of me?"

"Well, duh." Dean kicked at the porch railing he was leaning against. "Dude, I cried like a baby. That's just weak." Dean could feel the flush of embarrassment under his skin. He hated feeling like this with Sam. Like they were suddenly less than equals.

Sam just shook his head. "Yeah, pathetic."

"I'm being serious here."

"Seriously stupid. Man, if I got hurt, I mean like fell off a roof, or hit by a car, I'd cry, right?"

"It's not the same."

"Why not? Cos sex is involved? You were hurt, you were scarred. Dude, you get to cry. And I'm not saying you go on Oprah or anything and cry in front of the whole country."

Dean snorted.

"But with me? In our bed? It's okay to cry."

"Our bed," Dean mused and Sam rubbed his cheek with an embarrassed gesture.

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I guess it is our bed now," Dean said honestly. "You asked me before, where we were going, Sam. Man, I think I'm lost. I've got no map for this one."

Sam patted the seat next to him and on impulse Dean sat down next to him, letting one long arm draw him close.

"We're not lost as long as we're together," Sam whispered in his ear. Dean tilted his head, just a little and they looked at one another in the moonlight.

Sam's eyes were so beautiful, Dean thought. Creased and gleaming when he smiled. Dancing when he grinned. And now, soft, serious, crinkling a little at the corners as his lips tilted.

"I love you," he murmured, and it wasn't dark and intense. It was sweet and gentle and it sounded so true that Dean's heart clenched in his chest. Sam leaned forward and kissed him and Dean just closed his eyes and gave himself to it. He wanted to believe in that love. In that small confession.

Maybe if Sam kissed him for long enough he would.

"Come to bed," Sam invited, standing up and pulling Dean to his feet.

"You're staying over?"

"Yeah. I already asked Nick."

Dean had to huff a laugh wondering how that conversation went. "You asked Nick?"

"He was cool." Sam lifted his hand and cupped Dean's cheek. "You want me to stay?" he asked again, and there was that intensity, that seriousness.

And like last time, Dean could only nod.

-666-

In the bedroom, standing by their bed, Dean felt like it was all new again. When Sam stood naked before him, Dean could only stare, tongue tied and nervous. He waited for Sam to take charge, sure that he'd make the first move, but Sam only stood, chest rising and falling, eyes calm.

"Sam," Dean whispered, and it was a plea, a longing, but still Sam only stood there, and then Dean understood. Sam wanted him to make the moves, set the pace. Fingers trembling he reached out, laid his hand over Sam's heart, closed his eyes in a moment's relief as he felt it thunder under his touch.

Firm skin rippled under his fingers as Dean took another step closer, feeling his confidence trickle back as Sam's breath hitched in his chest and his eyes slitted. Sam trembled, between strong thighs his cock twitched with his heartbeat and Dean's mouth watered at the sight. Sam could barely stand still now as Dean's hands explored his body, slid down his rib cage, found his waist, gripped his hips.

Almost drunk on the sensation Dean took a step forward, and now his hardness was touching Sam's cock, making them both shiver and jerk. Blindly Dean leaned forward, lips touching Sam's cheek, the curve of his jaw, the smooth skin of his neck.

"Dean," Sam groaned, voice rumbling. "God."

"Touch me, Sam," Dean invited into the curve of Sam's throat. Sam's Adams apple bobbed under the caress. "Don't you want to touch me?"

"Always," Sam moaned, lifting his hands and stroking over the wings of Dean's shoulder blades.

"Kiss me," Dean ordered and Sam complied, lips blindly finding Dean's mouth, shuddering as Dean pulled him closer. Now their bodies were touching from neck to knee and they kissed as if starving, hands bruising, mouths twisting, tongues stroking. Dean thrust his thigh between Sam's legs, the light dusting of hair rasping against the smooth skin of Sam's inner thighs and Sam moaned into his mouth.

The bed was behind them and Dean found the edge of the mattress with his knee, toppled them both and then the firm mattress was underneath them and Dean was on top of Sam, pressing his body into its softness with his weight.

"Sam, Sam," he muttered, kissing Sam's face as Sam kissed him back, they rolled, grappling like wrestlers, kissing like lovers, then Sam was on top of Dean and all of a sudden he reared back, eyes wide, pupils dilated.

"Dean," he panted.

"It's okay," Dean muttered back, and it was, it was sublime, to reach up, grab Sam's muscled arms, feel him shudder and jerk at the touch. Automatically he spread his thighs, cradling Sam between them, feeling the sheer masculine power of holding so much strength against the very heart of him.

Sam's eyes were glazed as his cock found the crease of Dean's hip and he thrust blindly against its smoothness, hands planted on either side of Dean's head on the mattress, arms extended. Throwing his head back Dean moaned as his cock leaked against Sam's hard belly.

"Uh uh," Sam was grunting, eyes almost feral as he gazed down at Dean and drove his body towards completion. A drop of sweat dripped from his brow and splashed onto Dean's lips, salty and clean, like Sam's come on his tongue and Dean arched against the bed, pushing into Sam's thrusts, feeling his own sweat blinding him. Sam threw back his head, shuddering as he climaxed, warm wetness pulsing between them.

Dean caught wide shoulders, pushed Sam over and crawled on top of him and now he was thrusting as Sam panted and quivered beneath him. Wide hands caught his hips, long, lean thighs parted, wrapped around him and then Dean was coming and collapsing on top of his lover with a juddering sigh.

"God," Sam panted.

"No, just me," Dean managed, then rode out the last aching moments of pleasure as Sam shook with laughter beneath him at the lame joke.

"Oh, stop, man, stop," Dean begged, over-sensitized flesh tingling as he rolled away, collapsed back onto the sweat-dampened sheets. "Too much."

Sam's chest was still rising and falling and he swallowed hard and turned a wide, weary grin on Dean. "What, you're not ready to go again?"

"Gimme a minute," Dean said weakly, eyes fluttering closed.

"Sure," Sam slurred, rolling onto his side and pressing against Dean. "Mmm," he hummed sleepily.

"Sam," Dean whispered, turning on his side, gathering the lax body to him. Sam hummed again, snuggling close, nuzzling into Dean's neck. Dean wrapped his arm around him and rubbed his cheek against Sam's soft hair, contentment filling him. "I love you," he whispered, and just for a moment it was as if he'd said it a thousand times before, and not for the first time.

He thought Sam was asleep, but a moment later long lashes fluttered against his neck and warm breath caressed him.

"I love you," Sam breathed back.

Smiling gently Dean's eyes drifted closed and he slipped into sleep.

End of Part Three


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Old Ghosts 4/6  
Author: Gillian Middleton  
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Dean  
Rating: R -NC 17  
Total word count: 7225  
Warning: Wincest.  
Authors notes: AU story where Sam and Dean were adopted by different people and meet as adults.

**Old Ghosts**

Part Four

By Gillian

Sam looked up from his laptop, considering the next words for his paper and idly studying the patterns of sunlight thrown on the table through the lacy curtains at the kitchen window. It was quiet here, on a weekday. No one was cutting the grass, no children were running up and down the street outside. There was just the sound of a radio from the garage where Nick was getting his fishing gear in order for a trip out with Gary.

It was Nick who'd suggested Sam could study here when he needed some peace and quiet. Sam had been unsure at first, not wanting to intrude and feeling a little uncomfortable at the the idea of being in Dean's house without him there. But Nick was a hard guy to be uncomfortable around, he just had a knack for making people feel at ease. So when Sam complained about his party-hard room-mate and Nick made his offer, it was a difficult one to turn down.

Sam was glad he hadn't. It was nice, being in a home again. His first year of college he'd been so focused on getting used to campus life and keeping his grades up he hadn't really had time to be lonely. But now, coming back for his second year after spending the summer at home, it was setting in. Sam came from a happy home, and he missed that family atmosphere.

Not that Nick and Dean were any kind of regular family. And they certainly didn't live the way Sam imagined two men living together. For one thing the place was spotless. And when they cooked it was elaborate dishes that Sam had never tasted before. Nick whipped up a mean moussaka.

Sam looked around the bright, sunny kitchen. A potted fern trailed delicate leaves from a pot on the cupboard. The bench was covered in gleaming blue and white tiles. A white hand stitched apron still hung on a hook behind the back door. Nick's wife, Renie, had been dead for more than a year, but the house looked as if she had left it yesterday.

Sam knew he'd been lucky in his life, he still had his parents and both sets of grandparents. He couldn't imagine what it must have been like for Nick, losing his wife. Or for Dean, losing the closest thing he had to a mother.

Thinking of Dean had Sam resting his chin on his hand and smiling reminiscently. If anyone had told him back in September when he decided to look for part time work that by Halloween he'd be so deeply involved with someone, he wouldn't have believed them. And yet here he was. Working with Dean. Falling into bed with him every chance he got. Loving him.

It was a little sobering now, remembering the first time he'd told Dean he loved him. He hadn't meant for it to come out like that, when they were both still so raw and hurting. He'd wanted it to be an occasion they could look back on and smile about.

And yet now, remembering it, Sam didn't think there could have been a better time. Dean had needed to hear it and Sam, god knows, had needed to say it.

Rubbing tiredly at the crease between his eyes, Sam felt the familiar twist in his chest at the thought of Dean's distress that day. That painful revelation, that terrible confirmation of Sam's fears. That first night, on the narrow cot at the back of the shop, Sam had wondered, just for a moment. When Dean pushed at his shoulders, eyes wide, panicked, it had crossed his mind.

That someone had hurt Dean.

But it had been just a passing thought, drowned beneath the flood of passion between them, on that night and the ones that followed. He had always been careful after that never to hold Dean down again and everything had been fine. Sam had forgotten that brief moment of nagging worry.

Then Sam had pushed too hard, too fast and it had all come crashing down around them both. For a little while Sam had been wild with fear for Dean, and for their budding relationship. By the time Dean had made his broken little confession, Sam's quick mind had already raced ahead, filled in the blanks, rendered it unnecessary. But Dean had needed to say it, to have it drawn from him like poison from a wound, and so Sam had listened, and soothed him, and tried to be strong.

And then, when Dean had finally curled up in the bed and fallen asleep, then Sam had let it all sink in. Dean's pain and suffering. His loneliness and loss of innocence. And how broken he had been, in Sam's arms, pouring out the horrors of his past as if he had been at fault. As if he had done something to be ashamed of.

Sam had crept into the bathroom and sat down on the toilet seat with his head in his hands. He'd been scared, he remembered now. Scared that he was going to screw this up. Scared because Dean would need him when he woke up and he didn't know what to do, what to say to him. He was scared that he might say the wrong thing, touch him the wrong way. Hurt him even more.

In the end it had been so much easier than he would have believed. Seeing Dean standing there in the doorway of the kitchen, looking achingly young and vulnerable in his track pants and tube socks, Sam had known just what to do and say.

Nothing had changed after all. Dean was still the man Sam had fallen in love with. It had been easy to just acknowledge that pain, and the privilege of Dean having trusted him enough to share it with him. And then just get on with the business of loving Dean, and looking after him, and letting Dean look after him, when he needed to.

Sam straightened up with a sigh, pressing his hand to the small of his back.

"You're too young to be making a noise like that," Nick commented as he walked by.

Sam chuckled, twisting his neck to straighten out the kinks caused by too long hunched over his laptop. "Are you sure I'm not in the way, Nick, working here during the daytime?"

Nick rummaged around in a drawer, pulling out a small pair of pliers and peering down his nose through his glasses at the tool. "Course not," he said absently. "I'm glad of the company." He flicked Sam a glance. "Don't you need the library or something?"

Sam gestured at his laptop. "Library and text books rolled into one."

"Ah, modern technology. Hey, Sam, can you thread this for me?" He handed over the pliers and a brass sinker and Sam easily pushed the fine filament through the small hole. "Nice to have young eyes around. You about ready for a break?"

Sam nodded and closed his laptop with a click. "Yeah, I could eat. And I am actually going to need to get to the library later, pick up a few things."

"How's the Camaro running?" Nick asked as they assembled sandwiches.

"Great," Sam enthused. "We're switching out all the old metal fuel lines for plastic, should be back on the road tomorrow. I'll just get the bus tonight." Sam finished his sandwich and eyed the bread packet.

Nick grinned and pushed it over. "Eat, you're a growing boy."

"I feel like I'm eating you out of house and home here," Sam said guiltily. "Is there something I can do for you?" He glanced out the back door. "I could cut the grass? Maybe trim the driveway?"

"Actually it looks like we'll have the lawn covered. Gary phoned this morning. His grandson is coming back to live with him."

"Ronnie? I thought he was living with his mom?"

Nick grimaced. "Don't get me started on Shona. She always was a wild one." Nick watched as Sam devoured another sandwich. "Tell you what though, if you do want to help."

Sam chewed and nodded.

"I want to set up another couple of rods and maybe some more lures. I could use those young eyes of yours."

"My eyes are at your service."

-666-

Dean pulled up in front of the library in his old truck with a shudder and a jerk. Sam was right, he needed to find a better ride than this. It was embarrassing for someone whose business was putting fine automobiles back on the road to be seen driving this rattle trap. He was a long way from getting his Impala running, but truthfully he was in no particular hurry. He was enjoying the long slow process of restoring the American classic.

Of course, Dean mused with a reminiscent smile, he was pretty far behind on his schedule these days. For some reason he and Sam never seemed to spend more than an hour working on the Chevy before they found something more interesting to do. Not that he was complaining.

Over the last few weeks things with Sam had gone better and better and Dean's fears that the younger man would pull away from him after that awful afternoon had proved entirely groundless. In fact, if anything their love making was better than it had been before. Dean half closed his eyes in remembered pleasure. None of the sexual encounters in his life, willing or unwilling, could have prepared him for being in Sam's arms.

And Sam's generous heart.

He glanced at his watch, noting that he was a few minutes early. Around him the late October evening was setting in and Halloween decorations graced the notice boards and windows. A fat Jack O'Lantern sat at the top of the steps to the library. A group emerged through the wide doors and Dean smiled as he recognized Sam in the crowd. He would have been hard to miss, he was taller than all the others and towered over a couple of them. They walked as a group, laughing and looking comfortable together.

Dean suppressed a twinge of something that felt a little like envy. For a moment he wondered what it would like, to be one of those kids chatting and laughing. To have the kind of relationship with Sam where they could meet as equals. Of course he was the one Sam was going home with, not one of these college boys, and certainly not any of those brainy girls in their tight jeans and cut off tops. Dean was idly admiring a gorgeous blonde with a waist he could easily wrap his hands around, when she suddenly squealed and flung her arms around Sam.

Dean straightened in his seat, outrage flooding him. What the hell did that skinny bimbo think she was doing? And why was Sam standing there, and... Dean narrowed his eyes as Sam's big hand patted her back.

Okay, that was it. Dean unbuckled his belt, ready to get out and stake his territory. At that moment Sam looked up and saw him, and lifted a hand in greeting, face lighting up in a grin. Dean set his jaw and slowly buckled himself back in as Sam detached from the limpet blonde and hurried down the path, calling good-bye over his shoulder to his friends.

"Hi, am I late?" he said, leaning in the window. "Want to come and meet my friends?"

"I'll pass, thanks. You coming?"

Sam pulled open the creaky door and climbed into the cab and Dean tore his eyes away from Sam's crowd of friends, most of whom still stood on the path, chatting easily with one another. Mostly he'd been looking at the blonde who hadn't taken her eyes off Sam since she'd been forced to take her hands off him.

"Dean?"

I can drive 'round the block a few times if you like," Dean offered acerbically. "Give you time to say good-bye?"

Sam half smiled, half frowned. "I said good-bye."

"You sure?" Dean nodded to the group and the blonde who was still casting them curious glances. "Your little blonde friend there looks like she misses you already."

Sam followed his gaze to the girl and Dean gritted his teeth as the bony bitch had the temerity to wave at him. "You mean Rebecca?"

"Yeah, Rebecca," Dean sneered. "She's cute," he continued airily. "Not exactly my type." Which was a lie, he'd have jumped her bones in a minute a month or so ago. Of course now he could see what a mistake that would have been, she was clearly a bottle blonde skank.

"She's a friend," Sam said, still studying Dean quizzically. "They're all my friends."

"Right," Dean said easily. "Whatever."

"Right," Sam repeated as Dean twisted the ignition viciously. The truck rumbled to life.

Then Dean twisted the key back and the motor died. "I'm just saying," he bit out. "If you're keeping your options open? You can do better than her."

Sam's brows rose. "Oh, is that what you're saying?"

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but before he could form words Sam had slid across the worn, old vinyl and was kissing him, passionately. There was no room to pull away, no room to fight, and anyway, after a moment of Sam's lips on his, Sam's tongue possessively stroking, Dean wasn't in the mood to fight. He gripped Sam's shoulders and let himself be kissed for long moments.

Reality came crashing back as Sam drew away and Dean opened his eyes to the sight and sound of Sam's friends hooting and punching the air.

"W- what the hell did you do that for?" Dean stuttered.

Sam gestured to Rebecca who was now watching with her hand over her smiling mouth. "Guess my options aren't so open any more, huh?"

Feeling like his face was on fire Dean flicked the ignition again, raising one hand and waving resignedly at the impudent cheers and jeers from Sam's crowd. "Yeah yeah," he muttered as they all waved back. He gunned the truck and pulled away from the curb. "You're a total jerk, you know that?" he said, relieved to leave Sam's friends in the rear view mirror.

"I'm the jerk? If looks could kill my friend Becky would be dead on the pavement back there. What the hell was that about?"

"She was hugging you," Dean pointed out, then winced at how lame that sounded. Sam must have thought the same thing because when Dean flicked him a glance, the younger man was twisted in his seat and staring at him expectantly. He reminded Dean of a school teacher he'd had in the third grade who would just stand with his arms crossed in front of a misbehaving class. It was the classic I-can-wait-all-day-if-I-have-to look and Sam had perfected it.

Dean blew out a breath. "I'm sorry, okay?" he said, aggrieved.

"Dean, man, if you can't trust me - after all we've been through together - then what the hell am I doing wrong?"

"I do trust you," Dean said defensively. "I just..." He darted another look at Sam who was now staring at him as if dumbstruck "What?" Dean demanded.

"You're jealous," Sam said blankly.

"Shut up," Dean huffed defensively.

Sam just grinned at him. "You're jealous," he said smugly.

Dean kept his eyes fixed firmly on the road. "Shut up," he muttered again.

-666-

Sam grinned smugly all the way home, chuckling under his breath as they pulled into the driveway and rattled to a stop.

"You're just loving this, aren't you?" Dean grumbled.

"Oh, yeah," Sam agreed. He turned on the worn vinyl and faced Dean, lifting one long leg and perching his knee on the edge of the broad seat. He rubbed the worn denim over his thigh. "You okay?" he asked softly.

"Other than feeling like a damn fool?" Dean answered sardonically. "Fine. Oh, and by the way, thanks for outing me in front of the entire university."

Sam shrugged a shoulder. "Actually it was myself I was outing."

Dean unfastened his seat belt and turned in his seat, studying Sam's composed face curiously. "Doesn't that bother you?"

"You mean will it put a crimp in my social life? You're my social life, dumbass."

"Hey, who said you could call me dumbass?" Dean protested.

Sam reached out and caught one of Dean's hands in his, holding it loosely, rubbing at the knuckles absently. "The whole of last year I kept my head down at school," Sam said quietly. "Keeping my grades up, studying. Didn't go to keggers, social events, spent more time in the library than at parties."

"You're such a geek," Dean said fondly.

"I thought this year I'd try to get out more, meet people. Maybe even join one of the hundreds of clubs I'm always getting flyers for."

Sam lifted his gaze from the rapt study of Dean's hand and met his eyes.

"I guess I was lonely," he murmured and Dean felt that echo somewhere inside himself. All his life he'd been lonely, all his life he'd felt this aching emptiness inside him. Something was missing, _someone_ was missing from his life.

For the first time Dean realized that emptiness was gone.

"I had a brother once," Dean blurted out, and Sam looked at him, surprised. "I mean, I think I had a brother once."

Sam shook his head. "I don't understand."

"I don't really remember," Dean revealed. He'd only told this story once before, to Renie. And it didn't get any easier to tell. "I was sick when the authorities found me at that motel. For months all I remember is the hospital."

The bright children's ward, with the friendly nurses and the occasional clown to brighten up the lives of the sick children. And the parents who brought balloons and toys to all the other kids.

"What was wrong with you?" Sam asked huskily, hand tightening on Dean's.

"Pneumonia, and some complications," Dean said starkly. "By the time I felt well enough to think again, all I remembered was my name. And..."

Sam slid closer, taking both Dean's hands now. "And?"

"And that's about it. When I was well enough I went into the home, and from there the foster homes." He looked away for a moment, pushing away his bitterness at those years. "But then I started dreaming. Of someone sleeping in my arms, you know? Snuggling under my chin. Holding me, needing me. I think I looked after him." Dean shook his head. "But I don't even remember his name."

"Did you ask anyone? Social Services."

"Yeah." Dean laughed without humor. "They said I was making up imaginary friends. Said I was, uh, what was the word? Troubled?"

"Gee, I wonder why," Sam said acidly. "Did anyone even bother to find out for you?"

"One thing you learn, pretty quickly, Sam, when you're in the system. People do what they have to do for you, and no more. I was nobody's child. Nobody's particular concern."

Sam leaned forward and rested his head against Dean's. Their eyes met, and Sam's crinkled at the corners when he smiled. "You're my concern now," Sam whispered. "There's only you, you know that, right?"

Dean shifted a little uncomfortably at his earlier jealousy, and groped for words of explanation. "It wasn't you," he managed to get out. "It was her. Anybody. Nobody gets to touch you but me," he finished on a grumble and Sam chuckled, white teeth flashing, chest shaking.

"Possessive much?"

"Damn straight."

Their eyes met again and they were both laughing.

-666-

Dinner was waiting for them on the table and Dean and Sam washed up before sitting down eagerly.

"I love my mother's cooking to bits," Sam said, helping himself to a plateful before handing the casserole dish off to Dean. "But I have never eaten like this in my whole life."

"Pastitsio," Nick said proudly. "Renie's favorite."

"Nick used to make it every Sunday," Dean recalled, ladling himself a portion and handing around slices of crusty bread.

Nick settled down at the table with a sigh and shook out his napkin. "So, Dean, did Sam tell you that Ronnie's coming home?"

"That was quick." Dean shook his head. "I thought Shona would last until Christmas at least. Is she coming back with him?"

Nick shook his head sadly. "She says she's found a job and she'll send for Ronnie again when she's back on her feet."

"Right," Dean said cynically.

"Gary's just about had enough. I don't think Shona will find it so easy to drag that boy away next time."

"I'm looking forward to meeting him," Sam said. "Gary talks about him all the time."

"He's a good kid," Dean said thoughtfully. "Hey, Nick? Maybe we should do something for Thanksgiving this year. Invite Gary and Ronnie." He glanced at Sam. "We weren't in much of a mood for celebrating last year," he explained. "We had a pretty quiet Thanksgiving and Christmas."

"Yeah," Sam acknowledged.

"Well, this year will be different," Nick said firmly. "Renie wouldn't have wanted us to go around with long faces forever."

"No, she wouldn't," Dean agreed. Sam felt his chest tighten at that simple sentiment. Dean had a look that he reserved for those he really cared about and he always wore it when he talked about Renie. Then Sam's heart warmed when Dean quirked a smile at him across the table, and he saw that same look in his eyes.

"Sam?" Dean was asking. "What are you doing for Thanksgiving? You're welcome here, if you like?"

"I'm going home," Sam said, actually regretting that fact for the first time. "It's a pretty easy trip to Richmond."

"You're taking the Camaro, right?" It was more a statement than a question and Sam nodded.

"Thanks." He glanced at Nick and then back to Dean. "I'm gonna tell my parents," he said, a little nervously. "About us."

"That'll be an interesting conversation," Nick observed.

Dean was looking at him, his face carefully neutral. "How they gonna take it?"

"My mom will be okay, I think," Sam ventured. "But my dad..."

"It's tough for us older folks," Nick volunteered. "Be patient with him."

Sam had his own fears on that score, but he kept them to himself for the moment.

"Well, we'll miss you here," Nick said sincerely.

"Thanks."

-666-

After dinner Nick retired to the living room to watch his shows and Sam and Dean tidied up the kitchen and washed the dishes.

"What about your dad?" Dean asked, laying a slippery dish on the drainer. Sam picked it up and began rubbing it dry. "I'm guessing they don't know the gay side of you?"

Sam grimaced. "I'm still learning that side of me. But no, I never let them see that."

"You know, you don't have to put yourself through that," Dean said, head bent over the sink as he diligently scrubbed. "I mean, they're a long way away from here. They don't need to know."

"They're my parents, Dean. I want them to know what's going on in my life." Sam frowned as he tried to explain it. "I want to share this with them, talk about you to them. I want you to meet them someday."

"Meet the parents?" Dean said doubtfully. "I don't know, Sam."

"Don't you want to meet my family?" Sam asked, a little disapointed.

Dean shot him a look, then huffed a laugh. "Honestly? The thought scares the crap out of me. I mean. What are your parents gonna think about me?"

"Uh, let's see," Sam pretended to think hard. "That you're drop dead gorgeous? That you have big green eyes and lips to die for. And an ass..."

Hey, don't you think I'm traumatized enough?" Dean protested as Sam snickered coarsely. "I don't need to think about your parents and my ass in the same sentence."

"Or," Sam said, a little more seriously. "They might see a guy who's working hard to buy his half of the business from his partner." Sam hooked the towel around Dean's neck and drew him closer. Careless of his soapy hands Dean let himself be drawn. "A guy who takes care of his family and friends. They might see the guy I love," Sam murmured, pressing a soft kiss to Dean's lips, rubbing gently against their tempting curve. "Who takes such good care of me."

Sam crowded Dean back against the sink and kissed him again, humming his pleasure as Dean parted his lips and let him take his fill. Slowly he drew back and Dean untangled his lashes and opened his eyes, blinking dazedly at him. Sam grinned.

"But this Dean," he whispered possessively. "This Dean only I get to see."

-666-

Thanksgiving at the Fielding home was a huge undertaking, involving the merging of the two sides of the family. Both Colleen's Irish American parents and Nathan's African American family brought their own cultural traditions to the table, and it made for an eclectic and interesting weekend.

It could also get loud and rowdy and occasionally out of hand and by Friday afternoon Sam wasn't sure how much more he could take. He missed Dean the whole time, but especially at night, stretching out in his narrow old bed. It was amazing how quickly he'd gotten used to sleeping curled up next to his lover.

Up in his room Sam wandered around for a while then picked up his old high school yearbook from his desk and flipped through it. He glanced down at the phone and wondered if it was too soon to call Dean again. Last time he'd phoned everybody sounded like they were having a ball, he could hear Ronnie almost helpless with laughter in the background. Sam missed them all.

"Hey, Sammy."

Sam looked up from the yearbook, hair flopping forward over his eye. "Hey, Mom. It's Sam okay?"

"Sorry," his mom smiled, coming in and perching on the edge of the bed. "Looking at your yearbook?"

Sam glanced back down at the glossy pages before closing the book. His long fingers traced the design on the cover, circling the slightly raised numerals of 2001.

"It was on my desk," he shrugged, a little embarrassed.

"I was glancing at it the other day." His mom wrinkled her nose and brushed a lock of hair over his ear. "You want me to trim your hair for you, before you go back?"

"Mom, they have barbers in Palo Alto."

"If you say so." Colleen Fielding lifted the book from Sam's lap and flicked through the pages. "I saw Allie Hooper's mother the other day. She said Allie was coming home for Thanksgiving as well. Maybe you want to give her a call?" She paused at a page covered in pictures. Sam recognized himself standing next to Allie, both of them smiling widely for the camera. It had only been a year and a half ago and he already felt as if he were looking at his distant past.

"Mom, Allie and I broke up, remember? Different schools, different parts of the country?"

"Doesn't mean you can't still be friends, does it?"

"Actually, it kinda does."

Colleen gazed down at the picture, smiling mistily. "You both looked so happy that night. Your Dad and I were so proud of you, Sam." She lifted her head and smiled warmly at him. "We still are."

"Thanks, Mom," Sam said sincerely. "You know, I wanted to thank you. And Dad."

"For what, honey?"

"For adopting me."

His mom raised her brows in surprise. "What brought that on?"

Sam shifted a little on the bed, twisting to face her a little more. "I met this guy, Dean. He's like part owner of Petrakos Classic Auto."

"Your part-time job."

"Yeah. We kind of hit it off right away." Sam smiled a little, remembering the wonder of those first days falling in love. "He was in foster care for a long time, bounced around. He had... a pretty hard time of it."

This wasn't the time to share details, and Sam wasn't about to betray Dean's confidence. But for a moment he wanted to tell his Mom all about Dean's life, make her understand. Make her see how special Dean was to have survived all that.

One day.

"Anyway, it just made me think,' Sam continued quietly. "How different things might have been for me. How lucky I was to have been found by you and Dad."

"It wasn't luck," his mother said, laying a gentle hand on his. He lifted his gaze to her soft blue eyes, seeing the love in them shine for him, as they had every day of his life. "It was meant to be. You know, your Dad and I, we were looking for a girl, that first time. We thought maybe an African American girl baby. It wasn't a plan, just something we'd talked about."

Sam nodded, he'd heard this story before as a child and never tired of it.

"But the social worker, Mrs Casey, she took us to see you. Three years old, mop of brown curls on you." Colleen had to reach up to tweak a brown lock of Sam's hair now, but he submitted as he always did, with a half grin, half grimace. "And I took one look and fell in love. When I picked you up you smiled at me. Snuggled into my arms. Mrs Casey said you hadn't smiled at anybody since they brought you in."

"And you never regretted it?" Sam wasn't sure where that question came from, and from the genuine surprise on his mother's face, neither was she.

"Goodness, no," Colleen said firmly. "Like I said, it was fate. Remember when we decided to foster again we went looking for a little brother for you."

"And came home with Lily," Sam chuckled, glancing at the framed picture of his sister by his bed. Twelve years old now, plump cheeks, strikingly pretty slanted brown eyes.

"Fate," Colleen repeated. Her hand still covered Sam's on the coverlet between them and she stroked it gently. "Now, why don't you tell me what's bothering you."

Sam blinked in surprise. "What?"

"Well, something's on your mind. Has been since you arrived." She peered into his face, a little concerned. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Sam hastened to assure her. "Not a thing. In fact..." He drew a deep breath, nerves tingling. "In fact things are really good. I, er, met someone."

"Well," Colleen said in satisfaction. "No wonder you don't want to call Allie."

"Yeah," Sam ducked his head shyly.

"So, tell me about her. When can I meet her? Is it too soon? You could have brought her along for the holiday, you know."

"Mom," Sam interrupted, determined to get this out now. "It's not a her."

His mother broke off mid sentence.

"It's a him."

"What?" she said, half smiling.

"Dean, the guy I told you about."

"Wait a minute," Colleen said slowly, holding up one hand. "When you say you met someone..."

"I mean I'm in love. With Dean."

"Oh." Colleen looked away, a puzzled frown on her face. She opened her mouth as if to ask something, then closed it again. "Oh," she said again. "You're in love with a man."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, his stomach a complete knot. Expressions seemed to chase themselves across his mother's face. Confusion, worry, curiosity, more worry.

"Honey, I don't know what to say," she finally managed. "I didn't even know you... And then there was Allie... I mean, I was sure you and she were.."

"Having sex," Sam said, cheeks flushing a little. "We were."

"I thought you were," Colleen said, looking even more confused. "So, what happened?"

"Nothing happened, Mom. I really cared about Allie. If things had been different we might have stayed together and been happy. But as it turns out she went her way and I went mine, and then I met Dean."

"And fell in love."

"Yeah." Sam smiled again, relieved at the way this conversation was going. His mom really seemed to be listening to him.

"And the fact that he's a boy?" Colleen said doubtfully.

Now Sam's smile widened as he pictured Dean's reaction to being called a boy. "He's nearly twenty-three, Mom. He's a man."

"I guess so," his mother said, still looking nonplussed. "Well, honey, I won't say this hasn't shocked me. And I have about a million questions." She shrugged, eyes rueful. "I think I'm too embarrassed to ask most of them."

Sam huffed out a laugh and impulsively reached out and hugged her to him. "I'd like to say you can ask me anything," he chuckled. "But that's actually a kind of scary thought."

"Oh, Sammy," Colleen, said with sudden emotion, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing him tightly. "Are you sure you're okay? Are you happy?"

Sam drew back and smiled. "I really am, Mom."

There were tears standing in his mom's eyes, but she blinked them away determinedly. "Well, all right then." She sat up straighter and rubbed at her nose with one knuckle. Sam recognized it as her 'getting down to business' look. "Tell me about him. Tell me about Dean."

"I have pictures," Sam said, jumping up and dragging his duffel bag over. He rifled through it and pulled out an envelope. "I'm helping him fix up his old car," he explained, handing over the first shot. Dean was standing over the open hood of the Impala, glowering for the camera. "He was mad because Nick was making fun of his Chevy," Sam explained.

Colleen took the picture and studied it. Then she accepted the next one Sam handed her, of Dean now more relaxed and smiling reluctantly.

"He's very handsome," she admitted.

"Isn't he?" Sam enthused. "I was worried he was gonna be some party guy when I first met him, but he isn't. I mean, apparently he used to see a lot of girls, so Nick said, but never anything serious."

"He went out with girls too?"

"Sure." Sam handed over a few more shots, explaining who and what and where. "I took this one with the timer." It showed Dean and Sam flanking Nick, all of them grinning, the two younger men streaked with grease.

"That's Nick?" Colleen asked.

"Yeah. Nick and his wife kind of took Dean in when he was a teenager. Now Dean is buying a partnership in Nick's shop by managing the place single handed. He works so hard, Mom," Sam said earnestly, wanting her to understand. "And he takes care of Nick. And..." Sam caught her gaze. "And he takes care of me too, Mom. He really does."

Colleen met her son's gaze for long moments, head tilted to one side, a slight frown puckering her brow. Finally she nodded. "I guess he does," she admitted. "So, when will I get to meet him?"

Sam grinned, and squeezed her hands. "Well, I have to talk to Dad first."

"Oh, honey," his mom interrupted. "I wish you'd leave that to me."

"You don't think I should tell him?"

"I really think it would be better coming from me. You know he's a bit old fashioned about some things. Besides," she hurriedly continued. "This is hardly the time with a houseful of family."

"I guess," Sam agreed reluctantly.

His mom stood up and patted his arm. "Come on, let's rejoin the party."

-666-

"Hey, Uncle Nick?" Ronnie called out. "Do you have any more gas for the lawn mower?"

"There's a can under the bench," Dean told him, and Sam slipped around the engine block and found it.

"How's it going?" Sam asked as he unscrewed the cap and handed it to Gary's grandson to pour into the mower.

"I know these guys missed me," Ronnie said, grinning and shaking his head. "But you think one of them could have cut the grass while I was away?"

"We just couldn't live up to the master, Ron," Dean chuckled, leaning back against the bench casually.

"Couldn't shift your lazy ass, more like," Ronnie muttered, sounding more like he was sixteen than twelve. Then suddenly he was twelve again, dropping the empty can at Sam's feet and taking off with a squawk as Dean pushed away from the bench and lunged after him.

"Gramps, help!" he shrieked as he circled Nick's precious California holly bushes with Dean only inches behind.

"Call me lazy, will you!" Dean panted, reaching out but grabbing only air as Ronnie raced over to Sam and ducked behind him.

"Lazy and old!" Ronnie taunted from the cover of Sam's back, then squeaked again and disappeared around the house.

Dean made a big show about panting up and grabbing Sam for support. "Did you hear that?" he puffed. "He called me old."

Sam laughed in delight at the by-play, taken all over again by this new side of Dean. With Ronnie Dean seemed to drop all his guards and become a kid again. Or the kid he never got the chance to be.

"You have grease on your nose," he informed Dean.

"I'm never gonna get this carburetor fitted, am I?" Dean said resignedly, scooping up the gas can and accepting the lid back from Sam.

-666-

"Hey, what happened to old carburetor we put in?" Ronnie had wandered in while Sam was showering. He had some meeting he'd promised to attend with his friends from school.

"I told you it would probably be too small when we fitted it," Dean reminded him, picking up a wrench. "Sam found me this one on the internet. Got a good price. We still had to rebuild it though." Dean glanced at him. "Could have used your nimble fingers for that one, buddy."

Ronnie stroked a finger over the buff, gleaming surface of the Rochester BV. "I wish I'd been here."

Dean slanted him a sympathetic look. "Rough?"

Ronnie shrugged, kicking the concrete floor with a scuffed trainer. "Let's just say Shona was out of practice at the mothering business."

"Does she get points for trying?"

Ronnie shrugged again. "I don't think she's coming back this time, Dean."

Dean nodded, then patted him on the shoulder. "Least you got your grampa."

"Yeah," Ronnie said, brightening a little. "And if you think this place is bad, you should see Grampa's garden. He just can't manage without me."

"Yeah, it was tough. But hey, look on the bright side, extra cash is extra cash," Dean said practically. "Just as long as you don't waste it on any more of that rap trash music of yours."

"Right, Mr It's-not-music-if-it-was-written-after-1980."

"Ah, you're so young," Dean teased, mussing the boy's hair teasingly.

"Hey, hands off the 'fro," Ronnie huffed. He toyed with a few tools while Dean went back to work. "Hey, Dean?"

Dean straightened at the serious tone. "Yeah?"

"Does Sam live here now?"

"Pretty much."

"Oh." Ronnie fiddled with a discarded hose. "Is he your boyfriend?"

Dean opened his mouth then closed it again. He supposed he should have expected something like this. And he and Ronnie had always been able to talk about everything.

"I guess," Dean said slowly. "That's not exactly how I'd put it, but yeah. Close enough."

Ronnie's mouth turned down. "Oh, man, I thought Gramps must have had it wrong. Dude, he's like six feet tall!"

Dean's brows rose. "So?"

"So if you're gonna go for a guy, shouldn't he be shorter than you?"

Nonplussed, Dean could only stare for a moment. "But then I'd be taller than him," he said confusedly.

"Yeah," Ronnie said, as if talking to an idiot. "But you're the man, right?"

Dean pulled at one ear, hoping Ronnie wasn't talking about what he thought he was, but pretty sure he was out of luck. "Where is this coming from?"

"I don't know," Ronnie said moodily. "You're my role model, Dean. And now you're gay."

"So, what? You're warped for life now? Deal with it, squirt."

Ronnie spread his hands indignantly. "Deal with it? That's all I get?"

"What do want, a fruit basket?" Dean relented a little, aware he was being an ass and trying to tone it down. It wasn't Ronnie's fault that this was actually the first time he'd really had to discuss this. Nick had just accepted it and Dean and Gary had never actually spoken about it, although Dean suspected Gary and Nick had had a few private talks together concerning him and Sam.

"Look, Ronnie," Dean said carefully. "I'm still the same, guy, okay? Who I climb into bed with at night shouldn't change that."

"Oh, barf," Ronnie said, making a face. "Are you allowed to say stuff like that to me? I'm only twelve, remember?"

"Yeah, twelve going on thirty," Dean muttered and Ronnie grinned, looking flattered. "Is this really gonna be an issue?"

Ronnie shrugged. "Gramps said I shouldn't ask you about it. He said it was private."

"We're buds, right?" Dean reminded him. "You know you can ask me anything." Dean hurriedly held up one greasy hand. "Practically anything."

"Don't worry," Ronnie smirked. "I don't want to know any gross details. Just... You used to run around with a lot of women, right?"

"Maybe you are too young for this," Dean said uneasily aware that his past sexual history with women wasn't exactly PG-13.

"You said anything."

"I said practically anything," Dean amended, then sighed gustily. "Okay, okay. What do you want to know?"

"Is Sam gonna stay here?"

Dean considered this. "I hope so."

Ronnie thought for a moment. "Are we still best friends?"

Dean grinned and held out one closed fist. "For life, buddy."

Ronnie closed his own fist and bumped it gently with Dean's, then squeaked and protested when Dean wrapped an arm around his neck and squeezed him in a quick half hug.

"Hey, what did I tell you about messin' with the 'fro!" Ronnie protested, but he was grinning as he smoothed his hair down.

-666-

Sam was almost helpless with laughter. "Shouldn't you be taller?" he repeated through his chuckles. "The hell?"

"Don't ask me," Dean said, lips quirking. "Kids say the darndest things."

"You're really good with him, you know?"

Dean shrugged with one shoulder. "He's a good kid."

"I can't wait till you meet Lily." Sam shook his head. "She's gonna have the biggest crush on you." His phone rang and Sam glanced at the caller ID. "Hey, co-incidence. It's Mom." he flipped the phone open. "Hi, Mom. Did you talk to Dad?"

Dean watched as Sam's hopeful face fell.

"Yeah, I understand," Sam said reasonably. "Look, put him on, let me talk to him."

Dean's heart wrung with sympathy as Sam looked away, chewed at his lip. "Yeah, okay," he finally said softly. "Yeah, I love you too. Say hi to Lily for me."

Slowly Sam closed the phone. "He wouldn't even talk to me."

Dean wrapped and arm around Sam's shoulder and drew him close.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

End of Part Four.

Two more parts to go. Phew!


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** Old Ghosts - 5/6  
**Author:** Gillian Middleton  
**Characters/Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Rating: **R**  
Total word count: 5200**  
**Warning:** Wincest.  
**Authors notes: **AU story where Sam and Dean were adopted by different people and meet as adults. Sam's father makes his feelings known.

**Old Ghosts**

Part Five

by Gillian

Sam sat at the kitchen table, books propped all around him, cooling mug of coffee at his right hand. Nick had ridden into the shop with Dean to give him some advice about an old Lincoln. Sam suspected Dean and Gary could figure it out between them, but Nick enjoyed poking his head in at the shop now and again, checking in with customers and then wandering down to his favorite diner for lunch.

Sam half wished he could be with them. He glanced at his watch, thinking that he might grill some steaks for dinner before Dean and Nick arrived home, when he heard someone climbing up the back steps.

"Knock Knock," a familiar voice said and Sam jumped up and opened the back door, peering through the screen mesh.

"Dad?"

"I did knock out front but nobody answered."

Sam unlocked the screen door and pushed it open, staring in surprise at his father's rugged face. Nathan Fielding had boxed during his years in the marines, and as he got older his old broken nose seemed more prominent. He was tall and black and broad shouldered, and he smiled at Sam's surprise. "Dad? What are you doing here?"

"Hi, Sammy."

Nathan Fielding smiled slowly and Sam was so glad to see him he could barely speak. Joy filled him and when his father held out his arms he stepped into them, hugging him tightly. "I'm so glad to see you."

"It's good to see you too, Sam," his dad said, and Sam drew back and patted him on the shoulder.

"Why didn't you call, tell me you were coming?"

"I wanted to see you alone, Sam. Talk."

Sam frowned at the grave tone in his father's voice. "Everything's okay, isn't it? Mom? Lily?"

"Everything's fine. Your mother and Lily are out shopping for Christmas and running up my credit cards." Nathan Fielding glanced around the kitchen. "Maybe we could sit down?"

"Sure, uh, you want a beer? Or a soda?" Sam added hastily. "I could make coffee?"

"I'm fine." Nathan took a seat at the wooden table and laid down a black document bag. Sam eyed it curiously.

"I wish you had called me, Dad. Dean's at work and won't be in until after five." Sam broke off as his father looked away, big hands clenching on the black bag. Sam's happiness was draining away as he read the tension in his father's shoulders, the clench of his jaw. He sank into a chair opposite and laid his own hands on the table to still their trembling.

"Why did you come, Dad?"

"I was worried about you," Nathan said quietly. "After Thanksgiving when your mother told me... I wish you'd told me yourself, Sam, and not left it to your mother to do your dirty work."

"Hardly dirty work," Sam protested "And I wanted to tell you, both of you. That's what I intended to do that weekend. But Mom talked me out of it, said you'd be upset, and that it wasn't the right time with a houseful of guests. And she was right, Dad, wasn't she?" Sam said shrewdly. "You are upset. Maybe even more than Mom knows."

"Hell, yes, I'm upset," Nathan exclaimed, cool mask slipping away. "Nineteen years old and you show up one day and tell your mother you're gay? That you've let some guy pick you up, moved in with him for god's sake! How the hell do you expect me to feel?"

"I guess I expected you to trust my judgment," Sam said, chest clenching with pain at the disappointment in his father's voice. It had been bad enough hearing it from his mom, but this was a thousand times worse. All his life Sam had striven to please his dad, to live up to his expectations. To earn his praise. And all his life he'd been blessed with it, a natural athlete, good at school, popular and friendly. For the first time he'd let his father down.

Sam hated to admit it, but it stung like hell.

"I do trust you, Sam," his father said earnestly, leaning forward. "You're my son, and I love you. Nothing could ever change that."

"But?" Sam said quietly.

"But I have to admit I'm struggling to understand what's happening now. Is this some kind of phase you're going through?"

Sam huffed a laugh, although there was nothing remotely funny about this conversation. "Jees, Dad, a phase?" he appealed. "I'm nineteen, not nine."

"But you dated girls," Nathan said desperately. "All through high school you dated that Hooper girl. And junior high there was that blonde girl, Suzy, Shirley."

"Sherry," Sam corrected. His father never remembered the names of his friends. "And yeah Dad, I like girls. But I was looking at guys too."

His father looked appalled. "You were?"

Sam shrugged. "I was," he said simply. "But I never met anyone I liked enough to make it an issue." He shook his head, looking down at his hands on the table. "I was kind of scared, if you want to know the truth."

"Of what?" his father said cautiously, but he knew, and Sam knew that he did.

"Of this," Sam said anyway, and had the dubious satisfaction of seeing his father turn away. "Dad," he said urgently, wanting all of a sudden to end this bitter conversation. "Dad, if you just met Dean, got to know him, then you'd understand why it's different with him. Why I love him."

But his father was shaking his head before Sam even finished his sentence.

"Dad-"

"No, Sam, I don't need to meet him. I saw the pictures you left with your mother, I can see why he turned your head." Nathan heaved a deep sigh and fingered the zip on the document bag. "But you need to learn you can't always judge someone by a pretty face."

Now Sam shook his head. "There's so much more to Dean that that," he protested.

"I wish it hadn't come to this," Nathan said bleakly. Then he unzipped the bag and pulled out a manila folder.

Sam swallowed hard, intuition stinging the back of his neck. He studied the folder as if it were a cobra swaying before him.

"Dad?" he whispered. "What did you do?"

"I called my friend, Jake Bledsoe."

"From the San Francisco P.D? Oh my god. You had Dean checked out?"

"And thank god I did. D'you know what Jake found?"

"I don't care what he found! How dare you?"

"He was a prostitute, Sam! Your precious Dean was picked up for soliciting men in some back alley-"

Sam pushed away from the table, horror clawing at his insides. "Shut up! I don't want to hear this from you!"

"It's all true, son, I swear. I had Jake fax me a report."

"I don't care about your fucking report!" Sam smacked the folder out of his father's hands and papers flew everywhere. "What the fuck does your report know about Dean?"

"Sam-"

"Does it know about the foster homes he was put in, one after another?" Sam demanded. "Does it know about the last one, with the creep who used to climb into Dean's bed every goddam night?"

His father's face was pale. "Please, Sam."

Sam was so angry now he was shaking with it. "Does it know how bad it must have been to drive Dean onto the streets? Does it know that, Dad? Do you?"

"Sam, a lot of people have a rough time, they don't-"

"He was twelve years old, Dad," Sam said shakily. "Twelve years old. Remember me when I was twelve? Can you imagine some sick fucker hurting me, raping me, stealing away my innocence? Jesus, Dad." Sam voice choked completely and he turned away, unable to look at his father at that moment.

"Sammy, please."

Sam had never heard his father's voice so low, so pained, but he wouldn't turn to look at him. "You don't know anything about Dean," he said bitterly, fighting back the tears, searching for the strength to get through this, for Dean's sake. "If you did you'd be admiring the kind of strength it takes to survive all that and still be the man he is. Still be capable of loving me."

"This is what scares the hell out of me, Sam," his father said desperately. "You're so sure he is capable of loving you. How can I believe it?"

"Maybe if you'd met him you could have judged for yourself," Sam accused thickly. "But you wouldn't meet him, would you, Dad? And I don't think that has anything to do with Dean, or what he's done." Sam finally turned to look at his father, the man he'd idolized his entire life. "This is about you not wanting a queer for a son."

His father gasped as if he'd been punched. "No, Sammy!"

"Yes it is, but that's okay," Sam said coldly. "Because right now this queer isn't so sure he wants you for a father."

"You don't mean that. Sam, I came here to try and make peace between us."

"I didn't start the war. Please, Dad, just go."

Nathan grabbed Sam's shoulders and held them tightly.

"I'm not going anywhere, Sammy."

"You should listen to your son."

Sam's glance shot to the open kitchen door where Nick stood, blocking the light from outside.

Nathan Fielding dropped his hands and studied the old man for a moment. Sam looked too, as if seeing Nick Petrakos for the first time. Tall and tanned, gray hair brushed fiercely back from his brow. Shoulders a little stooped with age but still wide.

There was no anger or threat on Nick's face. He just stepped into the room and gestured at the open door.

Nathan turned back to Sam, still standing by the table, sheets of paper around his feet. On one of them was a grainy picture of a boy and Sam followed his father's gaze, felt his gut clench tighter at the sight of Dean's childish face staring sullenly from the paper. The anger solidified inside him and he returned his gaze to his father, lifting his chin and staring coolly.

Finally Nathan shook his head, and walked to the back door. Nick stepped aside as the tall man walked through, and Sam heard his gravelly voice again.

"That's a fine boy you raised there, Mr Fielding. Maybe you should think about that."

"Maybe you should mind your own business."

Sam walked stiffly to the door and watched his father stomp down the back stairs and around the side of the house.

"That's good advice," Nick mused as they heard the sound of a car door slam and an engine turn over. "Maybe he should have thought about that before he poked into Dean's business."

"Oh, god. Dean." Sam suddenly remembered the papers all over the floor and he spun from the door and dropped to his knees, gathering them up with trembling hands. He tried to pick them up without seeing them, not wanting words to jump out at him, hating that a lifetime of pain and misery was spelled out so dryly on these faxed pages. That everything Dean had suffered and triumphed over could be reduced to a few lines in some file somewhere.

"Calm down, son," Nick said, his gnarled hand resting briefly on Sam's shoulder, and Sam realised he was clutching the papers to his chest, head bowed over them. "Dean won't be home for while yet, we've got time to get rid of them."

"I'm sorry," Sam said, his chest shaking with the pain, the grief of it all. That his dad could have done this, not knowing or caring the trouble he might have brought down on Dean. That his dad, who had always been on his side, was now so firmly set against him.

Against them.

"Dean can't ever know about his," Sam said, clutching the last of the papers and standing up. He groped for a paper shopping bag and shoved them all in. "Never."

"Sam," Nick said gently. "That's not gonna fly, and you know it."

Sam looked up and stared at the old man, eyes still stinging with tears.

"That boy loves you. He's gonna take one look at you and know something's wrong."

"But..." Sam held the bag tighter, crushing it in his large fist.

"We don't have to tell him about that," Nick said, scowling and staring blackly at the wrinkled bag. "In fact, I reckon we take it out back and burn it. I don't want it in our house."

Sam sniffed and nodded, and the pair of them trooped out into the back yard and stuffed some wood into the barbecue pit. Then Sam held the bag over it and flicked the lighter until the brown paper caught. He waited a few moments until it was well alight, then dropped it, watching as the brown paper burned through and began yellowing and crinkling the white papers beneath.

"Did you know about this?" Sam said quietly, watching as Dean's past was devoured by the flames. Wishing it were as easy to burn the pain of the memories left behind as well.

"I guessed a lot of it," Nick said heavily. He shook his head, sorrow and the flames painting his face. "Dean told you?"

"He told me enough."

Nick nodded slowly. "Sam, if I didn't already know how much he loves you, that would have said it all. To share any part of a story like that..."

Sam took a deep breath, feeling the truth of Nick's words like balm on a wound. He remembered that day, how hard it had been for Dean, how they had held each other so tightly Sam had bruises the next day.

"And if I worried a little about how much you loved him, well, that went away when you stood up to your Daddy for him."

Sorrow twisted in Sam's chest again. "It's gonna hurt Dean. When he knows the choice I had to make."

"Yeah," Nick agreed sadly. "You know, Sam. Life's all about choices. I told Dean that once, a long time ago. I remind him now and then. You made the right one today. And for what it's worth, I think your dad will come around."

Sam blinked in surprise. "You really think so?"

"He raised you, didn't he? He must have done something right." Nick said, slapping him on the shoulder. "Now come on, let's get dinner on the table for Dean. You two have some talking to do."

-666-

Colleen Fielding picked up the phone on the third ring.

"Mom?"

"Sammy!" she greeted happily. "How are you?"

"Did you know Dad was coming today?" Sam asked bluntly.

Colleen gripped the phone a little tighter. She'd never heard Sam's voice so raw, so angry. "Your dad was there? Today?"

Sam voice was a little softer. "You didn't know he was coming?"

Colleen sank into the little padded chair by the phone. "Oh, Sammy," she said in despair. "What did he do?"

"It doesn't matter, Mom. Just tell him - I don't want him to come back here. I don't want him anywhere near me or Dean."

Colleen closed her eyes. "Oh, Sam. This is all such a mess. But I know your father will come round. Just give him some time-"

"It's gone way beyond that now," Sam interrupted. "Mom..."

She winced at how shaky his voice was.

"Mom, I still want to see you and Lily."

"And Christmas?" she said miserably, already knowing the answer. There was a silence on the line for long moments.

"I'll call you. Kiss Lily for me."

"I will. I love you, honey."

"I love you too, Mom."

Long after her son hung up Colleen sat, holding the phone, not even hearing the harsh broken ring tone.

-666-

By the time Dean walked in the door, tired and greasy, there was a salad on the table and burgers gently grilling on the stove.

"Hey, you guys know it's nearly Christmas, right?" Dean said, pulling out a chair and sitting down at the table. "Even in California it's way too late for barbecue." He grabbed a piece of lettuce and chewed thoughtfully for a moment. "Or too early."

"Barbecue?" Nick said lightly, splitting a hamburger bun and laying it on the stack.

"Yeah, the pit is still smoking. What were you burning?"

Sam stood at the sink, washing the last of the peelings down the disposal. He could feel Dean's eyes on him, knew from the curiosity in his lover's voice that Dean knew something was up.

"I'm gonna set the VCR for my show," Nick muttered. He patted Sam's shoulder on the way past and Sam nodded and shot him a grateful glance.

"Now I know something's up," Dean said, and Sam heard the scrape of the chair pushed back from the table. "Nick's idea of setting for a show is sticking a tape in and hoping to catch the program he wants in the next eight hours." A gentle hand touched his waist and Dean tugged gently. Sam allowed himself to be turned, lifting his eyes and meeting Dean's concerned green ones.

He so wanted to be strong for Dean, he hated feeling like a little child around him. But the afternoon was still fresh in his mind, and overlaid on Dean's grown up face was that sullen child with his brooding eyes and down turned mouth. Sam felt sorrow well up and he tried to pull back from Dean, turning away from his perceptive eyes.

But Dean was having none of it.

"Sam?" he said firmly, one hand lifting to cup Sam's cheek. "What's wrong, dude? Sam?"

Sam leaned into the touch, smelling the sharp stinging scent of the cream cleanser that mechanics used to shift grease from their skin. It was so familiar now, so much a part of Dean and their life together.

"Sam, you're scaring me."

And Dean did look scared, the color was draining from his cheeks, his eyes were shadowed.

"I'm sorry," Sam said shakily. "I love you," he whispered, because he couldn't think of any other way to start this. And because he really needed to say it at that moment.

Dean's face softened into a smile but the worried look didn't fade. "I love you," he said back and Sam blinked in surprise. It was so rare for Dean to say that outside of their bedroom. Usually those words were whispered in the dark when they were still dazed and smiling from their loving. And then he understood. That Dean must have realized that Sam needed to hear it from him.

Happiness rose in his chest, smothering some of the pain, dousing the guilt and the grief over the awful confrontation with his father.

"My dad came to see me."

Dean frowned a little, then he tightened his jaw, his face settling into sterner lines. "Right." He nodded, looking down at where their hands were linked together. "I take it he hasn't come round yet?"

"You could say that." Sam glanced down at the sizzling hamburger patties and grimaced, twisting the stove top off. "Let's go sit on the porch?"

Dean followed him out and sank down beside him on the top step. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the walk, the long grass, the old fence. Sam clasped his hands between his knees and heaved a sigh.

"I really thought, you know? Just for a minute, when I saw him at the door. I thought Mom had talked him around and he'd come to tell me it was okay."

"What did he say to you?"

Sam twisted and looked at Dean, smiling a little. "Not much as it turns out. Enough."

"For what?"

"For me to figure out what this is really about. No," Sam corrected. "For me to admit what I already knew it was about. Me being gay." Sam huffed a laugh. "Or whatever."

There was silence between them for a few moments. A car drove by, pulled into the drive across the street. Someone climbed out and reached back in for groceries.

"This is my fault," Dean said abruptly. "If you hadn't met me..."

"What?" Sam asked gently. "What, Dean? I wouldn't ever have had to face my father and tell him I'm in love with a man?"

"Maybe," Dean shot back. "Maybe you'd have met that nice girl every father wants for his son. Hell, the one Nick wanted for me!"

"And is that what you wish had happened? That I'd never come to the shop that day? That we'd never met each other and both ended up with nice girls, instead? Do you really wish that?"

"No! I don't know!" Dean pushed up from the step, stamped down the stairs and turned at the bottom. "It would have been easier, wouldn't it?"

"Easier for who?" Sam demanded. "My father? For me, because then I could have gone on living the lie, pretending to be the perfect son? Because that's not easy, Dean, believe me!"

Dean seemed to seek words for a moment and came up dry. "Pretending?" he finally asked.

"Yeah," Sam said sadly. "Dude, I knew I wanted guys when I was fifteen. It scared the hell out of me." Sam ran a hand through his hair, grimacing at the memory. "I used to dream about it, you know? About my dad finding out, looking into my head, seeing the fantasies I was jerking off to."

Dean climbed slowly back up the steps and sank down next to him. "When Nick found us together that first time," Dean recalled. "You were freaked. You said you couldn't imagine how you'd feel if your dad found you like that."

"I could imagine it all too well," Sam said ruefully. "All my life people looked at the two of us and knew we weren't really father and son, you know? All my life, I just wanted to be the son he wanted."

"And you thought, if he found out you were gay..."

"I would see his face when the Gay Pride Parade was on TV," Sam said painfully. "He never said a word, made a comment. But I knew he hated it."

The sun was all the way down now, a cool breeze blowing down the block. Sam shivered a little and felt Dean's warm hand on his arm. He leaned into it and it snaked around his waist, pulling him close.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Dean said softly.

"You didn't mean it would be easier for you, did you, Dean?" Sam had to ask.

"Don't be an idiot," Dean chided him.

"Okay." Sam let his head rest against Dean's for a little while, enjoying the warm closeness after the coldness that had invaded him that afternoon.

"Sam?" Dean asked quietly. "What did you burn in the barbecue pit?"

Sam stiffened, remembering the file and its incriminating contents. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Dean pulled away again, standing up, crossing the old wooden porch, his work boots thudding hollowly in the quiet evening. He stopped at the railing, leaning against it.

"You might as well tell me, Sam."

"He was trying to protect me," Sam said desperately. "It wasn't about you, he never even thought about you."

"Sam," Dean prompted softly.

Sam licked his lips. "Dad's friends with this guy, they served in the marines together." He grimaced, shaking his head. "He's a cop in the city."

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, pain flickering across his fingers. "Christ," he whispered harshly, pushing away from the railing with a jerk. "That's just great." He took the steps two at a time, avoiding Sam's beseeching hand as he flew past him and around the side of the house.

"Dean!"

Sam caught up with Dean at the barbecue pit. It was full dark now, the kitchen lights shone out into the garden and Sam could still smell the burning paper, even over the scent of the hamburger patties drying out on the stove.

Dean had a stick in his hand and was stirring the ashes, even as Sam watched he dug in deep and ripped the stick away, sending black ash and crumbled yellowed fragments of scorched paper into the air in a sweeping arc.

"I bet he just loved that," Dean said angrily, flinging the stick away. It spun across the garden, scaring the next door neighbors cat into leaping away. "I bet that was just what he was dying to see. Not just a fag, but a fucking whore. Rent boy, hustler, trade-"

Dean!" Sam grabbed Dean's arms and wrenched him closer. "Stop it! Don't say that!"

"Why not?" Dean demanded, face ghostly white in the slanted light. "Isn't that what he said? His innocent baby boy, dragged off to bed by some fucking punk, not fit to kiss dear Sammy's boots-"

Sam jerked him close, slamming his mouth on Dean's lips, stopping the flow of hateful words, fighting Dean when he struggled and twisted in his arms. Finally Dean twisted his mouth away, but Sam wouldn't release him, he used every muscle he had to keep their bodies pressed together, feelings the tremors that racked Dean as he squirmed against him.

"Stop it, Sam, let me go," Dean ordered.

"No," Sam panted. "I won't let you go and you can't make me."

"I fucking could," Dean spat back, but he finally stopped fighting, dropping his arms and bowing his head. "I could hurt you in ways you can't imagine," he said flatly.

"You hurt me when you talk about yourself like that," Sam said painfully.

"It's all true."

"It's not and it never was." Sam slid his hands to Dean's forearms, holding him still, tilting his head to catch his eyes. "Please, babe, please. Believe me. I was ashamed today-"

Dean jerked in his arms.

"-but not of you," Sam continued deeply. "I was ashamed for my father. Because he couldn't see what I saw, when I looked at that folder. And he read it, Dean. I didn't."

Dean's face was in shadow, his eyes lowered, chin to his chest. "You didn't?" he said hoarsely.

"I burned it. Me and Nick, we burned it."

"So Nick knows." Dean stated dully.

"Nick always knew."

"Yeah." Dean was silent for long moments. "He never said anything."

"He's like me," Sam said quietly. "He loves you. He hates what happened to you. But he doesn't blame you."

Dean was shaking his head. "I made choices," he said painfully. "Bad choices, Sam."

"Well, there were some pretty crappy alternatives in front of you," Sam reminded him softly. "But when you had the chance you made the right choice, Dean. You know what I told my Dad today? Before I told him to go?"

Dean lifted his head, face still shadowed, lashes spiky and wet. "What?" he asked, voice hushed.

"I told him that instead of reviling you for being a victim, he should be admiring you for being a survivor. I do, every day. And I'm amazed and grateful as hell that you became the man you are today. The man I love so much."

Dean's eyes closed and one lone tear seeped out and ran down his smooth cheek. "Why?" he asked painfully. "Why me?"

Sam leaned forward and kissed that tear away. "Don't be an idiot," he chided fondly, and Dean huffed a tiny laugh. Their foreheads met and they leaned together in the moonlight, close together, breathing each other's breath.

"You really told your Dad to go?" Dean said, eyes tinted with wonder.

"Nick thinks he'll get over it." Sam shrugged, one hand rubbing Dean's back tenderly. "It's his choice now." He tightened his hold possessively. "I've made mine."

-666-

"So I guess Christmas at your place is out?" Dean said wryly.

"This is my place."

-666-

"What did you say to him, Nate?" Colleen asked the moment her husband walked through the front door.

Nathan shook the rain off his coat and hung it on the hook. "I went to see my son." He turned angry brown eyes on her. "That's all right, isn't it?"

"You tell me. Sam called here and said he didn't want you to go see him again. In fact his exact words were for you to keep away from him. And Dean."

"Dean," Nathan spat, stomping past his wife and down the hall. "Yeah, it's all about Dean now, for Sam."

"Yes, it is," Colleen agreed in exasperation. "And we have to accept that if we want to keep our son."

Nathan shook his head. "I told Sam today that I love him. He's my son and I will always love him. But I don't approve of the way he's living now."

"Because he's gay?" Colleen appealed. "Sam's not looking for our approval, Nate. He is what he is. Whether you like it or not."

"Now you sound like him," Nathan said impatiently. "This is not just about his dubious lifestyle choice, Colleen. This is about his choice of... partner as well."

"You met him? This Dean?"

"No, and I don't want to meet him." Nathan cleared his throat and looked a little uncomfortable. "I asked Jake to look into his background a little."

"Oh, Nate, you didn't!" Colleen exclaimed, hand at her throat. "Well, no wonder Sam was so angry."

"The boy's not good enough for him, Colleen. He's been in trouble with the police."

Colleen studied her husband's face perceptively. "Serious trouble?"

Nathan looked away. "Serious enough."

She narrowed her eyes. "Recently? Nate?"

"It was his juvenile record," Nathan admitted reluctantly. "Jake had to pull a few strings to dig it up."

Colleen sank down onto the couch, shaking her head in despair. "Oh, Nate, I can't believe this. You ran to Sammy with tales of his boyfriend's juvenile record? What did you expect?"

Nathan sat down opposite her, his shoulders slumped. "I don't know," he confessed. "I guess I thought it might shock him into..."

"What? Leaving him? Running back home to us and magically turning straight again?"

"He's had girlfriends before," Nathan said stubbornly.

"And he might have them again. He's nineteen, Nate. He's got a lifetime of choices ahead of him. But they're his choices, not yours or mine." Nathan rubbed wearily at his brow and Colleen felt her anger melting away. "Oh, Nate."

"I made a mess of it," Nathan confided wearily. "He wouldn't even look at the stuff I got from Jake. I think he already knew."

"Well, that's a good sign. That his young man told him. What did this Dean do, anyway?" she asked curiously.

Nathan hesitated, then shrugged. "He was fifteen," he said quietly. "It doesn't really matter, does it."

"Obviously not to Sam."

"I've never seen him so angry," Nathan said miserably, and Colleen rose and crossed the floor, sinking back down beside him. She took his arm and squeezed it.

"He'll come round."

"I'm not so sure. I think I've really messed things up."

End of Part Five


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Old Ghosts 6/6  
Author: Gillian Middleton  
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Dean  
Rating: R  
Total word count: 13 000  
Warning: Wincest.  
Authors notes: Excerpts from John Winchester's Journal taken from Super-Canon, A Supernatural Resource. They are transcribed from John's Diary on the Official Supernatural Website. For the purposes of this story John's diary is a part of his journal. Spoilers for the Pilot.  
Summary: AU story where Sam and Dean were separated as children and meet as adults, not knowing they are brothers. They fall in love, but they have Dean's past & Sam's family to contend with. And then there is the biggest secret of them all...

**Old Ghosts**

Part Six

by Gillian

_Some disasters you can see coming, Dean thought, much later when he could think clearly again. Some disasters are like clouds on the horizon, forewarning the storms to come._

_But some disasters come like a bolt from a clear blue sky..._

The parcel arrived on a Tuesday and Nick signed for it and left it on the table for Dean to find when he got home. It wasn't very big and it was wrapped in brown paper and string.

"You expecting anything?" Sam asked as he put the coffee on. It wasn't unusual for Dean to get packages, he picked up the occasional spare part over the internet. But they were mainly delivered to the shop.

"Well, it is nearly my birthday," Dean teased.

Sam held up his hands. "Three weeks until your birthday, and don't look at me, I haven't got you anything yet. Nothing you can wrap up anyway," he amended with a grin and then skillfully avoided Dean's groping hand. "Hey, watch it, Nick will be home soon."

"Think again." Dean cornered Sam by the sink and crowded close, enjoying the feel of Sam's big hands resting on his hips. "Nick's playing cards tonight."

"So we have the house to ourselves," Sam mused thoughtfully.

Dean pressed closer, belly tightening with desire as Sam's hands slipped around and cupped his butt, fitting the two of them together. "However will we pass the time?"

Sam's lips hovered, cool breath teasing Dean's lips. Then the kettle boiled and and Sam drew back. "Coffee," he said softly.

Dean huffed impatiently, but stepped away. "Coffee," he agreed resignedly.

"I'll make it up to you later," Sam promised. "Now open your parcel, I want to know who's sending my boyfriend presents."

"Ooh, Caveman Sam," Dean admired, flicking out his pen knife and cutting the parcel's strings. "Remember that later. Huh, this is weird." Dean finished ripping off the brown paper. There was another layer of paper with writing on it. "To Dean and Sam," he read out. "Your father wanted you to have this."

"It's got my name on it?" Sam said curiously, abandoning the coffee and sitting down beside Dean at the table.

"I don't know any other Sams." Dean frowned and pulled off the last layer of paper.

"It's a book," Sam exclaimed.

"It's a journal." Dean flipped open the tattered leather book, revealing the inside cover pinned with military insignia. Papers with torn edges were tucked in its pages, plastic folders contained creased old photos. Dean frowned down at the top one, of a young soldier sitting behind the wheel of a jeep.

"Wow," Sam marveled, reaching over and touching a medal. "Dean, you think this is for real? From your father?"

"I don't know how it could be," Dean murmured, still reeling with shock. "Who the hell would even know where I was, let alone who my father was?"

"And why has it got my name on it?" Sam picked up the brown paper again and studied it. "It's postmarked Kansas," he stated. "Lawrence. You know anyone in Lawrence?"

Dean took the paper from Sam's hand and peered down at the postmark. "Damn," he said in surprise. "I was born in Lawrence." At Sam's enquiring look he explained. "I needed to get my birth certificate when I put my petition to change my name before the court. I was born in Lawrence, Kansas to a John and Mary Winchester." He shrugged. "That's all I know."

"Then this really might be from someone who knew your father," Sam said excitedly.

Dean flipped through the book, pulling out newspaper clippings and shreds of note paper. "Sam, do you see this stuff?" He pushed a few clippings towards Sam. "Haunted Cemetery," he read. "North East Ohio Ghost. What the hell is this?"

"Maybe he was interested in the supernatural," Sam mused, pulling the book over and pulling out some photos. "Looks like he was in the military. Probably Vietnam. He-"

Dean looked up from the pages he was perusing when Sam broke off, alarmed to see the color actually drain from Sam's face as he watched. "Sam?" he said in concern. Sam had a picture in his hand, a color snapshot and he was holding it so tightly the edges were creasing. In alarm Dean covered his hand where it held the picture, squeezing Sam's fingers. "Sam? What the hell is wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost!" Dean craned his neck to look as Sam swallowed hard and mutely held the picture out. Terrified now at the blank stare and shocked look in Sam's eyes Dean reached out and took the picture.

A man in a black knit cap was sitting on the hood of a car, a boy by his side and one perched on his knee, being held close. Dean frowned as he recognized himself, his eyes darting to the man. "It's me," he said numbly. "So that must be..." He swallowed, studying the man's face. He was smiling, Dean realized and his younger self was leaning trustingly against one broad shoulder.

"Are you sure?" Sam whispered and Dean looked up dazedly. Sam was still pale but now tears stood in his eyes.

"Sam, what is it?"

"Are you sure that's you?" Sam forced out.

Dean looked back down at the picture and then up at Sam. "Yeah. What's the matter?"

Sam shook his head then stood. For a moment he just stood there looking down at Dean and the picture. Then he carefully took the photo from Dean's hand and turned and left the room.

"Sam, you're freaking me out here," Dean said, casting the journal a last look before following Sam from the kitchen. He tracked him down in their bedroom, on the floor by the wardrobe, pulling the lid off a shoebox. Dean had seen it before, Sam kept old treasures in there, pictures, report cards, ribbons he'd won for swimming. "Sam?" Dean said tentatively as Sam scrabbled amongst the items, finally tipping the box onto the carpet and sifting through the contents. Suddenly he found what he was looking for.

Sam pulled a photograph from the pile and stared down at it. "This is me," he said quietly. "It's a picture of me with my parents, just a few days after they first fostered me." He handed the picture to Dean who automatically took it and glanced down. He'd seen Sam's parents in pictures before, here they were younger. His mom was slimmer and really quite lovely. Sam was sitting on her lap and the big black man next to her had one arm around her narrow waist and the other hand on Sam's knee.

Sam waited until Dean had looked for a moment or two before laying the picture from the journal beside his photo.

And then Dean saw it.

He frowned, sure he must be wrong. He looked up at Sam who just gazed solemnly back at him. "I - I see what you mean," Dean said. "He looks like you."

"It's your brother, isn't it? The one you remembered?"

"The one I thought I remembered," Dean qualified. He studied the youthful lines of the toddler's face. "I guess it must be. Sam, I can see what's got you freaked out. But just because this kid looks like you -"

"I don't think he looks like me," Sam interrupted tensely. "I think he is me."

Dean shook his head in automatic negation. "What are you, nuts? How the hell could he be you?"

"Look at the picture, Dean," Sam insisted.

"So what." Dean stood up, thrust both pictures back at Sam. "Little kids look alike sometimes. It's just a coincidence."

Sam's jaw was clenched but his voice was deadly, insistent. "The parcel said 'to Dean and Sam'. It said 'your father wanted you to have this'. Our father, Dean."

"No," Dean repeated, his mind rejecting the very idea. "No way. Look, maybe my little brother's name was Sam too. Okay?"

"And maybe he looked just like me?" Sam said incredulously. "Oh, and he was fostered out when he was the same age as me? Nearly seventeen years ago? Just like me?"

Dean tried to catch his breath, feeling Sam's words pummeling him like blows. "It's just..." he broke off, bewildered. "It can't be," he managed.

Sam looked down at the two pictures clenched in his fist. "We have to know. We have to read that journal."

Dean nodded numbly. "Yeah."

-666-

**November 6, 1983**

I buried my wife today. Even as I write that down, I don't believe it. Last week, we were a normal family… eating dinner, going to Dean's T-ball game, buying toys for baby Sammy. But in an instant, it all changed… when I try to think back, get it straight in my head… I feel like I'm going crazy. Like someone ripped both my arms off, plucked my eyes out… I'm wandering around, alone and lost and I can't do anything. Mary used to write in these books she kept by the bed. She said it helped her remember all the little things, about the boys, me… I wish I could read her journals, but like everything else, they're gone. Burned into nothing. She always wanted me to try writing things down. Maybe she's right, maybe it will help me to remember, to understand.

"Sammy," Sam murmured, looking up from the journal. "That's what my family calls me." He looked back down at the yellowing pages. "November 1983. I would have been six months old."

**December 4, 1983**

Last night I was sitting in Sam and Dean's room, in the dark, and I heard these noises… Mike said it was the wind, and okay, maybe it was, but it sounded almost like whispering, like someone was whispering a name, under their breath, again and again… like something is out there in the dark, watching us… I stayed up all night, just watching them, protecting them. From what, I don't know. Am I protecting them? Am I hurting them? I haven't let them out of my sight since the fire. Dean still hardly talks. I try to make small talk, or ask him if he wants to throw the baseball around. Anything to make him feel like a normal kid again. He never budges from my side – or from his brother. Every morning when I wake up, Dean is inside the crib, arms wrapped around baby Sam. Like he's trying to protect him from whatever is out there in the night. Sammy cries a lot, wanting his Mom. I don't know how to stop it, and part of me doesn't want to. It breaks my heart to think that soon he won't remember her at all. I can't let her memory die.

Dean realised he was crying as Sam kept reading, but he couldn't stop the tears pouring down his face. Was it the words from the past? Or his fractured memories over the years of holding his little brother close, trying to keep him safe, trying to feel safe again? Or just the creeping fear taking a hold of him?

Sam laid the book down and reached for him and he pressed his face to Dean's cheek, his own cheeks wet with tears.

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered.

"I don't remember her. I don't remember either of them. And I don't remember you, Sam. It wasn't you."

Sam drew back and gazed into his eyes and Dean could read it all there. The shock, the horror, the grief and rage and pain. Everything he was feeling mirrored in Sam's eyes. Dean lifted a hand, fingers stroking Sam's cheek, thumb sliding over his lips. This man, that little boy, those words, that photograph. How could any of this be real?

"It can't be real," he said desperately. "Sam, it can't be real."

"Dean..."

"I mean, look at this stuff!" Dean pulled the book over and skimmed the entries Sam had just read aloud.

'I reach out… and suddenly I'm back to that night, to the blood and the fire and Mary, Mary is on the ceiling, and how did she get on the ceiling… she can't be on the ceiling…'

"It's crazy, Sam! This guy was nuts!"

"He'd just lost his wife." Sam sniffed and rubbed at his eyes. "I can only imagine how I'd feel if I lost... you..." he trailed away, agonized realization breaking through his shock. "Oh god, Dean," he whispered harshly. "If this is true... What does that mean for us? What are we gonna do?"

"We have to find out the truth," Dean said tightly, Sam's pain and confusion tearing at him. "And we're not gonna find it in this... journal. You need to call your mom."

Sam shook his head. "My mom?"

"You said you never wanted to know about your birth parents. But she must know something about them. About that time. How long did they foster you before they adopted you?"

"Nearly two years," Sam said numbly. "Dean..."

"Sam." Dean touched Sam's hand, wondering if his own fingers felt so cold. They were both in shock, and maybe it was all for nothing. _Let it all be for nothing_, Dean prayed. "Sam, just call. It'll be all right."

Sam nodded jerkily and pulled out his phone, flipping it open with trembling fingers.

-666-

His mother's voice brought fresh tears to his eyes but he blinked them away, swallowing down the scream he could feel building inside of him.

"Hi, Sammy," his mother said delightedly. "I'm so glad you called."

"Mom?" Was that his voice? It sounded choked, as if he had already wept for hours the tears inside him. "Mom, I need to ask you some stuff."

"Sammy, are you okay? You sound like you're starting a cold."

"Yeah, I'm fine," Sam lied, meeting Dean's eyes. Dean hands gripped the old journal, fingers white on the leather cover. Sam wondered if he looked as pale and devastated as Dean did right now. "Mom, I wanted to ask you about... about my birth parents. What you know about them."

"Oh." His mother sounded taken aback, as well she might. Sam had insisted for years that he didn't want to know anything about that time of his life. "Sam, wouldn't you rather wait until we can sit down together? I'd rather be face to face for something like this."

"I'd like that too, Mom," Sam whispered, meaning it with all his heart. He wanted to hear this story from her lips, look into her eyes, take hold of her hand. He reached out now and Dean's hand instantly grasped his own. "But right now I just have a couple of questions. Mom, who were my birth parents? Why was I up for adoption?"

"Well, when we applied to have you placed with us you weren't up for adoption," his mother started hesitantly. "We fostered you for the first two years before we applied to make you ours forever."

"Why wasn't I up for adoption straight away?"

"We had to wait for parental rights to be terminated by a court order," Colleen explained.

"Why?"

"Oh, Sammy," Colleen said. "I wish we were doing this in person."

"Please, Mom," Sam implored. "I need to know now. Why would they terminate parental rights?"

"Well, that's what they do in cases of abandonment," Colleen said sadly. "I'm sorry, honey."

Sam closed his eyes. "I was abandoned?" he choked out, gripping Dean's hand harder. "Mom? What was my name? Before? What was my name?"

-666-

"Winchester," Dean repeated numbly.

Sam looked down at their hands still gripping tightly. "That's what she said." The phone was closed but still in his hand. Dean didn't even remember Sam saying good-bye to his mother.

"I don't understand," Dean said blankly. A little while ago the world had been itself, the sun was shining and he had the evening alone with Sam to look forward to. And now everything he thought he knew had blown up in his face, and he was ripped apart and bleeding out. "I mean, it doesn't make sense. What are the odds that you and I would even meet one another, let alone..." He couldn't say it aloud, and that scared the hell out of him.

"I meet people every day," Sam murmured. "Hundreds of people. We could have met and just moved on, passed one another in the street, even worked together for years and not known a thing." His eyes sought Dean, bewildered and frightened. "But the minute I saw you..."

"I thought I knew you," Dean recalled suddenly. "Just for a second, you said something, or tilted your head and I thought I knew you. But then I realized I didn't. I never thought of it again," Dean finished in a whisper.

"The first time you smiled at me I..." Sam shook his head painfully. "Oh god, Dean. We're brothers."

"Maybe... Maybe one of us was adopted?" Dean ventured. "Maybe there's no blood between us?"

Sam looked hopeful for a moment, then frowned. "No, Mom would have known if I'd been adopted before. Besides, you said you have your birth certificate?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Dean? What are we going to do?" Sam said desperately.

"We don't do anything," Dean said, trying to think. "We throw this thing away." He pushed the journal across the table. "This never happened, any of it."

"What good will that do? We can't pretend this away, Dean. It's real, it's happening." Slowly Sam pulled his fingers free and Dean let him, clenching his hand into a fist where it lay on the table.

"We didn't do anything wrong," Dean said tightly. "We didn't know."

"We know now," Sam starkly. His face was white, his skin looked like it was stretched over his bones.

"But no one else does," Dean said desperately. "And if we don't tell them they never will."

Sam stared at him in disbelief. "So what are you saying, Dean? That we can just go back to the way it was before?"

"Why not? I mean, this doesn't change anything, not between you and me!"

"It changes everything!" Sam exploded, pushing away from the table and jumping to his feet. "Don't you get that?"

"Of course I get it!" Dean yelled back, shoving his chair back as he stood up. "I just don't care, okay? I don't care!"

Sam stood there, chest rising and falling, pain etched on his face. For long moments he just stood, hands by his side, eyes dark.

"I do," he said simply, and then he dropped his chin and rubbed tiredly at his brow. "I have to." He gestured to the journal laying abandoned on the table. "This means something, Dean."

"We mean something," Dean said intensely.

Sam closed his eyes.

"You and me." Dean took a step closer, willing Sam to open his eyes, to look at him. To tell him everything was going to be all right. "Everything that we went through to get here, to be together. We can't just throw that away now. Sam?"

"I don't want to," Sam whispered, and Dean took another step closer, reached out, cupped his face with his right hand. Sam leaned into the gesture, eyes still closed, face still white as parchment. His skin was like ice under Dean's hand and he vaguely realised that Sam was still in shock. That they probably both were.

"Then don't," Dean implored. "We'll figure this out, Sam. We'll make it work, somehow."

Sam's hand came up, blindly he caught at Dean's waist, leaned into his warmth as he had a thousand times. Dean let himself be drawn, stepping into Sam's space, hand sliding around to the back of his neck. Then suddenly Sam's eyes flew open and he was pulling back, ripping away from Dean's touch, eyes wild with grief.

"No!" he exclaimed in horror. "We can't make it work, Dean! We are brothers. We had the same mother and father, we share the same blood! There's nothing to work out!" Sam was shaking hard now. "God! This isn't fair! Why is this happening?"

"I don't know," Dean whispered. All he wanted to do was put his arms around Sam, ease his pain, try to clear his mind enough to think this through. But his skin still stung with the pressure of Sam pulling away from him. Pushing him away.

Sam had never done that before.

"I can't get my head around this," Sam muttered, crossing his arms over his chest, hugging himself as if the chill of his skin had penetrated to his heart. "I have to think. I gotta get out of here. " He looked at Dean beseechingly.

Agony lanced through Dean, rooted him to the spot, froze his voice.

"I need to get away," Sam said desperately. "You understand that, don't you, Dean? I need to think."

As a child Dean had perfected the art of disassociating himself from his body. Of stepping back, distancing himself from the pain. Oddly that sensation came over him now, and it was as if he was a long way away when he heard himself speak.

"Will you come back?"

_What a foolish thing to ask, _he thought to himself. _Is that all you can think of to say?_

Sam was shaking his head, but he wasn't saying no, Dean understood that. He was shaking his head in despair, because he didn't know the answer, because he didn't know what to say. And then he was walking away, and Dean was just standing there, frozen, powerless as he'd been for so much of his life, as events moved around him and forces beyond his control took away everything safe and familiar, and replaced it with pain.

-666-

Much, much later Dean picked up the journal and walked down the hall to his room. He carefully slid open the top drawer of his dresser and laid it down on top of his socks. Then he closed the drawer and sat on the side of the bed.

Later the pain would come, Dean remembered that much. When he let himself feel again, when it all became real and the bruises started to show.

But for now he could lie down on the bed that still smelt faintly of Sam, and stare up at the ceiling and think about nothing at all.

-666-

A few hours later Sam was parked in front of his parents home, without any clear memory of the drive there. His mind was seething with memories of the last few months, playing over and over again every minute of the time he'd spent with Dean.

It had all seemed so perfect at first. As if there was no hurdle they couldn't overcome, no old ghost so powerful they couldn't defeat it. Falling in love with Dean had been the easiest trip of of his life. And for a while it had seemed like there was nothing they couldn't do, so long as they stayed together.

So why the hell had he left?

Everything in Sam cried out to turn the car around, to go back to his real home, the three bedroom yellow clapboard with the sagging fence and the half built Chevy Impala in the garage. To the blue and white kitchen smelling of Nick's cooking. To evenings on the front porch, sitting on the swing, watching the stars and necking with his lover.

His lover. His brother.

Sam didn't turn the car around.

Sickness was roiling in his belly. He thought of Lily, his little sister. He'd been ten years old when they brought her home. She'd been nearly three and he remembered holding her little dimpled hand and thinking in awe that she looked like a china doll. She was his sister, even though they shared not a drop of blood. She would be his sister until the day he died and one day her children would call him Uncle Sam. He knew this with every fiber of his being.

Dean was his brother. They had the same flesh, the same blood. But none of that felt even remotely real to him. Even now, knowing the truth, Sam just wanted to be back there, in Dean's arms, holding on for dear life.

But he still didn't turn the car around.

Instead he climbed out and walked slowly up the path to the front door of his parent's home.

-666-

Dean heard Nick come home, heard him call his name quietly and then walk back down the hall to the kitchen. He must know Dean was home, the truck was in the driveway.

Nick thought he was in here with Sam, Dean realized. Nick thought they had already gone to bed and he was being discreet and leaving them alone.

What was he going to tell Nick?

The afternoon had faded to night as Dean lay on the bed watching the shadows grow longer and disappear into darkness. The house had been so quiet and still that he'd heard all the sounds of the street outside as he lay there. Children on bikes. Mothers calling them in for supper. Cars pulling into driveways as people came home from their normal days and lived their normal lives.

Nothing would ever be normal again.

Dean wondered how it would feel if he and Sam had been torn apart in some normal way. If they'd fought, or cheated or just grown tired of one another. At least then he would feel something, right? He'd be angry or hurt or betrayed. He'd have something to blame.

Right now he couldn't feel much of anything at all, least of all blame. Who did he have to blame? Some tattered old journal written by a madman? Whoever had sent it to them? Or the people who tore them apart all those years ago, before they'd had a real chance to get to know one another as brothers?

Try as he might Dean couldn't remember Sam as a child. Only the memory of someone in his arms, depending on him, needing him. Only that empty knowledge inside him that he'd let that person down. That he'd failed them.

Groaning like an old man Dean straightened and sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing at his face wearily. He wondered where Sam was, how he was feeling. He wondered if he was letting Sam down again by letting him walk away. But what could he have done to stop him? They were tangled up in this thing and for the life of him Dean couldn't see a way to cut through that tangle and set them free.

"Sam," he said softly. His voice seemed to echo around the empty room.

-666-

"Sammy?"

Sam let himself in the front door and Nathan Fielding stood up, pulling off his reading glasses and blinking in astonishment.

"Where's Mom?" Sam asked bluntly.

"She's still at work. Sam you look terrible. Are you okay?"

"Can I stay here?"

"Of course you can," his father said after a surprised beat. "Sam?"

Sam turned without another word and climbed the stairs to his room.

"Sam?" his father said again, following him up the stairs and finally catching him on the landing, hand on his wrist. "Sammy, what on earth has happened?"

Sam kept his head turned away, wishing he hadn't come now. "I just want to be left alone, okay?" he said quietly.

"It's him, isn't it?" Nathan said suddenly. "Dean. He's done something."

Sam flinched away. "Just leave me alone," he said raggedly, pulling free of his father's hand and escaping into the safety of his old room. He pushed the door closed behind him, leaned back against it, shaking, tears spilling from his eyes, pouring down his cheeks.

"Dean."

-666-

"Sam? Honey, can I come in?"

Sam looked up, dimly aware that it was dark. He must have been sitting here an hour, he realized. Staring at the wall, lost in his thoughts. His explosion of grief hadn't lasted long, now he didn't think he could cry again if his life depended on it. Some pain was too deep for tears, they could not help to wash away this misery that gripped him.

He felt helpless against it, bruised by it. All his life he'd been lucky, he knew it now, he could see it. Sure, he'd been abandoned as a child, but he'd been so young when it happened he had no memory of that time. Since then he'd been adopted, loved, taken care of. Everything had come so easily, all his life.

That was why it had been such a shock when his father wouldn't even try to accept his relationship with Dean. Had turned so viciously against Dean without even giving him a chance to defend himself. Sam had thought that nothing could hurt as much as that rejection.

Now it all seemed so unimportant.

"Sammy?" His mother opened the door, peered around it. "Oh, Sammy," she said, and he blinked and frowned, wondering what she was seeing when she looked at him. For surely all the pain he was feeling was etched into him now, carved deep.

Sam sat silent as his mom approached the bed, sat down next to him, wrapped her arms around him. He closed his eyes, let her hold him.

"Honey?" she said sympathetically. "Can you tell me what happened? Your dad and I are worried about you."

"I'm all right," Sam said, his voice scratchy.

"You've been crying," Colleen said gently.

"I just want to be left alone," Sam said again. _Alone._ His aloneness was an empty ache in his chest.

"I shouldn't have told you that stuff about the adoption over the phone," his mother said worriedly. "I know how terrible it sounds, being abandoned-"

"It's got nothing to do with that," Sam lied. "Please, Mom."

"Oh, Sam. Can't you talk to me about it?" Colleen invited. "You've always been able to talk to me about anything."

_Not everything,_ he thought dully. _I couldn't tell you when I started to realize I wasn't entirely straight. It was too scary then, too private. _

And he couldn't tell her this either, Sam realized. He couldn't tell anyone about this. He couldn't bear to see the horror in her eyes, the pity, the disgust. She wasn't the one he needed to be with anyway. The one he wanted to confide in, to hold onto, to cry with.

That was Dean, the man he loved with all his heart. The man he'd walked away from.

Colleen was frowning a little, looking at his face, trying to read his eyes. Sam looked back, felt some of the tension leave him at the love and concern in her eyes. This wasn't her fault, it wasn't anybody's fault.

"I really just want to be alone, Mom," he said gently. "I just need to think."

To process. To mourn. All his dreams were gone, burned up into ashes. Nothing would ever be the same again.

-666-

Dean was never so glad to see the dawn, the night had seemed never ending as his thoughts twisted and turned on him. A dozen times he'd flipped open his phone, found Sam's number, held his finger over the button. A dozen times he'd snapped the phone closed and tossed it away.

Once he'd stood up, shoved his feet into his boots, even picked his keys up. Determined to find Sam, to hold him down if necessary, to make him listen.

Then he'd sat back down on the side of the bed, hand falling limp by his side, keys tumbling onto the carpet.

Because he still didn't know what he was supposed to say to Sam that he hadn't already said.

_It doesn't mean anything. Whatever blood is between us we're not brothers. I love you._

The shock had worn off during the night, and sometime in the dark hours Dean had given into his grief. Now he lay dry eyed as the sun came up, filtering through the thin curtains. He wondered if there was something wrong with him, that he could think like that. Was there something missing in him, at his very core? Maybe that was why he'd made the choices he had all those years ago. Why it had become so easy for him to get on his knees for whatever stranger had handed over the cash.

There must be something wrong with him. Because Dean knew now with absolute certainty that he didn't care whether he and Sam were brothers. That they shared the same mother and father. None of that meant a damn thing here and now. He just knew he wanted Sam back.

Dean showered and shaved, wondering what would have happened if he and Sam had known they were brothers when they met. He couldn't imagine seeing Sam and not wanting him. Loving him.

What was Sam feeling right now? Dean's heart wrung at the thought of everything Sam must be going through. Because it was different for Sam. He'd never had to face the choices that Dean had. He'd never had to develop that thick skin of pragmatism that allowed you to ignore the voice of conscience in your head. Sam would be struggling, not just with the present, but the memories of the past. The knowledge that he'd been making love with his brother. Committing incest. Time after time after time.

Dean drove to work and opened up the shop, getting an early start on the day's work. He knew he was just putting off the inevitable by avoiding Nick and his questions. But he couldn't face those questions right now. What was he supposed to say? This was one secret he couldn't share with anybody. Deep down Dean knew why.

Deep down he still had hope. Some part of him believed that Sam would come back to him.

Minutes before Gary was due into work, Dean's phone rang and he rubbed his hands on his overalls and reached for it, breath catching in his throat at the caller ID. He flipped it open.

There was silence on the line, soft breath, a whisper of sound.

Pain clenched his throat and he closed his eyes. "Sam," he whispered.

The phone beeped and the call ended. Dean just stood there until Gary came in, then he carefully closed the phone back up and slipped it into his pocket.

-666-

Sam held the phone tight, still hearing the echo of Dean's voice, that whisper of pain. He shouldn't have phoned, it wasn't fair to Dean. But he just missed him so much, like a limb that had been amputated, still aching with the shadow of pain. His eyes burned from the lack of sleep, his head throbbed dully.

Outside the world was going on around him. He'd heard Lily come home from dance class last night, heard his mother shush her outside his door. Ignored the quiet knock a little while later and his mom asking if he wanted anything for supper.

Sam belly growled and he huffed a weary sigh. Life did go on, didn't it? He pocketed his phone, standing and stretching, muscles twanging, protesting the long sleepless night slumped at his desk. The house was quiet and he realized his parents must have gone to work and that Lily would be in school already. Sam visited the bathroom first, throwing water on his face and rinsing the sour taste out of his mouth.

He stood in front of the mirror, bracing himself on the marble vanity, looking at his reflection. His eyes were puffy and swollen, his hair a tangled mess. Sam frowned and peered closer, looking at his own face and searching for traces of Dean in it. Surely he should have been able to see something before now. Shouldn't he have known somehow? That they were connected by blood?

Hunger led him downstairs. On the kitchen table was a casserole dish with a note propped on top.

_Sam, heat this up for your lunch. Mom._

Sam half smiled at his mother's looped hand writing. He was sorry now that he'd pushed her away last night. Sorry that she was probably worried about him. He'd still been so shell shocked and dazed. But really, what could he say to her? To any of them?

He didn't even know what to say to Dean.

Not bothering to heat the dish up, Sam grabbed a fork from the drawer and a carton of juice from the refrigerator and began eating. Stirring through the congealed gravy and plucking out pieces of meat Sam remembered the last meal he'd shared with Dean. They'd been sitting outside the garage, enjoying the rare warmth of the sunny January afternoon. They'd packed sandwiches and juice boxes and Dean had been telling a story about helping Gary paint Ronnie's room the first time he'd come to stay with his grandfather. It had all been so normal and easy.

The food caught in his throat and Sam pushed the dish away and swallowed down a few mouthfuls of juice.

He felt as if someone had died.

Like those stages of grief people talk about. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. Sam had left denial behind, and mutely understood in the depths of the night that he didn't have anyone or anything to be angry at. Bargaining had come at dawn, when, for the first time he seriously considered what Dean had said before Sam had walked away from him.

Seriously considered Dean's wild plan. Burn the book, forget they'd ever heard this truth. Go back to the way things were before.

Except there was no going back, was there? You couldn't fix something this broken. You just swept the broken pieces up and threw them away.

Sam wondered whether he'd skipped depression and gone straight to acceptance. Had he accepted this? Was he ready to push those broken pieces under the rug and just go on? Right now he couldn't even summon up the energy to figure out what he was going to do next. Term started again in less than a week. He didn't care.

His phone beeped and Sam pulled it out of his pocket, frowning at the screen. He had a message, from Dean.

_"Do you remember what you said about choices? I've made mine, Sam. Come back to me when you're ready. I'll be waiting."_

Sam found he still had some anger left after all when he snapped his phone closed and threw it against the wall.

It shattered and the broken pieces scattered into the sink and over the bench.

-666-

"Where's Sam?" Nick asked curiously as Dean sat down at the dinner table.

Dean looked at the spaghetti on his plate without appetite. He'd eaten an apple at lunch time, when he'd begun to feel light headed from the emptiness inside him. But the smell of the meat and sauce now was making him vaguely nauseous.

"Sam's gone," Dean said bluntly, pushing the plate away and standing up to grab a beer from the fridge.

"Gone?" Nick sounded confused.

Dean avoided his glance, twisting the top off the bottle and tossing it onto the bench.

"Yeah, gone."

Nick was silent for long moments while Dean drained his beer then threw the bottle in the trash and helped himself to another.

"Is he coming back?" Nick finally asked quietly.

_Come back to me when you're ready. I'll be waiting._

Dean looked up, into concerned amber eyes. "I don't know," he murmured.

Nick just nodded and pushed his own plate away. "You got one of them for me?" He nodded at the beer.

Dean grabbed the six pack and put it on the table.

-666-

Days passed. Sometimes Sam thought about what he'd do when school started, where he would stay. He wondered briefly about his old dorm but dismissed it. They probably had someone else in there now, and anyway he didn't want to go back there. Ironically this was the first term he would have been living off campus.

"Why waste your money on a dorm room when you're practically living here now?" Dean had said casually when Sam told him that his scholarship included a monthly stipend for accommodation and meals. And as easy as that Sam had moved in. He'd had a quiet word with Nick about it, beforehand, making sure it was all right with him. Sam wondered what Nick must be thinking of him now. He wondered what Dean had told everybody.

He didn't do anything about accommodation though. He spent the week not doing much of anything, but by Saturday morning Sam knew he couldn't hide any longer. His mother was at his door, inside his room, pulling drawn curtains apart and sliding open the windows.

"Okay, Sam," she said firmly. "Enough's enough. We've given you the time you wanted, now we have to sort this out."

"Easy as that," Sam mused dryly.

"Get yourself cleaned up," his mother ordered. "And come downstairs. Lily is out all day. We need to talk." She bustled to the door and paused. "And shave, will you? You look like a hobo."

Sam rubbed at his jaw, realizing he'd grown quite an impressive stubble. Then he lifted his arm and realized he'd developed quite an interesting smell as well. All week it had been wet and blustery and Sam had lain in bed listening to the patter of wind-driven rain against his windows. But this morning the sun was out, Sam could see little white clouds in the sky and the pale curtains billowed gently in the breeze.

All of a sudden he couldn't stand this room any more, couldn't stand himself, the way he smelt, the way he felt. He wanted that shower, wanted to wash away this sour depression that had clung to him for days, rendering him unable to speak or think or sleep.

The shower invigorated him and he stood in front of the mirror with a towel around his waist, sweeping his razor through the thick stubble on his cheeks. His hands were steady as he shaved and when he rinsed his face he stood as he had days before, hands braced on the marble vanity, looking at himself in the mirror.

This time he wasn't looking for traces of Dean, he was looking at himself, comparing the old Sam with this new one. That Sam had thought himself so grown up, had gone out into the world, fallen in love, thought that he could do anything.

This Sam knew better.

He couldn't do everything. Some things were beyond his confident strength. He'd thought he could fight anyone, even his own father, to keep Dean. Hadn't he stood by Dean and faced the old ghosts in his past? Hadn't he held onto Dean and poured all his love into him to try and help heal him?

But he couldn't do this. He couldn't change what he and Dean were to each other.

Flesh and blood.

Linked by history and ancestors and genetics. Linked in a way Sam never would be to his parents and his little sister. Connected in a way that Sam wasn't connected to another soul on earth.

This new Sam in the mirror understood that. Now he just had to decide what he was going to do about it.

_"Do you remember what you said about choices? I've made mine, Sam. Come back to me when you're ready. I'll be waiting."_

Sam recalled Dean's message and a corner of his lips twitched in a half smile at the memory. He'd always admired Dean's strength. The courage it had taken not only to survive his childhood but to rise above it. To become a surrogate son to Nick and Renie. A good friend to Gary and a big brother to Ronnie.

And to give his heart to another person. To Sam.

But now, for the first time, Sam understood that Dean really was stronger than he was. When they had found out the truth Dean had faced it, conquered it. He'd cut through the tangle of it all and come out the other side with the clear knowledge of what he wanted. When he'd had to make that choice he'd chosen Sam.

_"I've made mine, Sam."_

Now Sam had to decide if he had the same courage.

"What do you want?" he asked his reflection.

-666-

The kitchen was the heart of his parents home, Sam realized, just as it was for Nick and Dean. It was where they worked together in harmony to make meals. Where they sat together and shared the news of the day as they broke bread. Sam could remember coming home from school and running in here, finding his mother cooking, his father sitting at the bench reading some interesting article in the newspaper out to her. Sam remembered tests with A's written on them stuck to the refrigerator with magnets, school projects and glue scattered all over the benches. Biting his lip to keep back the tears as his dad put a sticking plaster on a scraped elbow.

Today his mother and father were sitting at the kitchen table waiting for him, coffee mugs steaming in front of them. His mom jumped up but he shook his head.

"I'll get it, Mom," he said quietly, pouring out a mug full and adding a generous spoonful of sugar. He needed the energy right now.

"You look better," his mother said anxiously.

"I feel better," Sam confirmed, sitting down and sipping the warm drink with a sigh. "I'm sorry I've been moping around for so long. I won't be doing it again."

Nathan laid his mug down and cleared his throat. "Before we say anything else, Sam, I want to apologize."

Sam bent his head, not wanting to hear this. Once he would have welcomed the chance to clear the air, but right now he didn't want to have to deal with this.

"I shouldn't have gone to Jake to get information about your... about Dean."

"No, you shouldn't," Sam agreed. He looked at his mother, wondering what she knew about this.

"For what it's worth I asked Jake to keep quiet about it. Not that he'd tell anyone, he could get into real trouble for helping me out. And I didn't tell anyone else about it," Nathan finished awkwardly, flicking a glance at Colleen.

"Thanks," Sam said. "But it doesn't matter now. Dean's not that scared and broken little kid any more. People change. Life changes them."

"Sam," Nathan said deeply. "I wish I could tell you that I'd changed. I wish I could tell you that I understand your... lifestyle choices. But I haven't. I don't."

Sam absorbed this. Nodded. Wondered what his father would think of the choice he was facing now.

"But I do love you, son," Nathan continued. "And I hate this distance between us. I hate that you won't talk to us now about what's hurting you so much."

Sam looked up and searched his father's familiar face, reading the sincerity and concern there.

"I don't understand you either," Sam said honestly. "Dean never did anything to you, but you could have brought a world of trouble down on him, having him investigated like that."

"How can you still be defending him?" Nathan said hotly. "After everything he's done to you!"

"Nathan," Colleen said firmly. "That's not fair. We don't know exactly what happened yet."

Sam shook his head. "What are you talking about?" he asked blankly. "Dean didn't do anything to me."

Nathan opened his mouth but Colleen shushed him. "We're just worried about you, Sam," she said carefully, putting her hand on her husband's arm and squeezing warningly. "Worried that you're taking this break-up with your young man a little too hard."

Sam stared disbelievingly. "I haven't broken up with Dean, Mom," he finally said firmly.

"Well, after he's broken up with you," his mother frowned, looking bewildered.

Sam shook his head again. "Dean didn't break up with me either. I still love Dean, and he still loves me. Nothing is going to change that." Sam heard his own words, felt them settle in his chest, easing away a trace more of the ache. He looked away, frowning thoughtfully. "Nothing in the world is going to change that."

"Well, then I'm confused," Colleen exclaimed. "What on earth have the last couple of days been about?"

"The five stages of grief," Sam explained slowly. "And the last one's acceptance."

-666-

"Beer is not going to solve this problem, Dean," Nick said, plucking the empty bottle from Dean's hand and dropping it into the trash bin. He held out a steaming mug of coffee and Dean reached out for it.

"I know." Dean sipped the hot brew, his knuckles scraping the the stubble on his chin. It rasped roughly.

Nick dropped down on the swing next to him and sipped his own coffee. Saturday had dawned cool and fine and the neighborhood kids were taking advantage of it. New bikes and games handed out at Christmas were finally getting a work-out and the sounds of playful laughter and the occasional burst of temper could be heard over the ever present drone of the highway a few blocks over.

"Have you heard from him?"

Dean shook his head. "Not yet," he admitted. Dean had survived the last few days on the hope that Sam would come back to him, but now, for the first time, he was starting to accept that it might not turn out that way. That Sam might have finally decided he'd had enough. Maybe they had finally found one old ghost that neither of them could defeat.

_What if Sam has cut his losses and run? Found someone without a police record and years of emotional baggage, and oh yes, isn't his freaking brother._

"Look, Dean," Nick said determinedly. "I've never interfered in your life before. I've respected your choices even when I didn't entirely approve of them. No," he added when Dean turned a pained glance on him. "I don't mean Sam. Sam's the best choice you ever made."

Dean flickered a smile. "No," he amended. "Keeping that card you gave me, all those years ago. That was the best choice I ever made."

"Well," Nick said gruffly. "Then I guess Sam's the best choice you made as a grown man. As to the stuff I didn't entirely approve of, well, let's just I was glad not to see you out chasing skanky skirt every night."

"Yeah, well, there's a lot to be said for skanky skirt," Dean said lightly, although right now it was hard to remember what he'd ever seen in it, beyond the obvious.

"Huh," Nick scoffed. "You didn't look like you were missing it much."

Dean curved both hands around his mug and shrugged. "Maybe it was getting old," he conceded.

"You know, Dean, I always hoped you'd find someone, settle down. I wanted you to find the kind of happiness Renie and I had together. Of course," Nick continued thoughtfully, scratching his hair. "I was actually picturing you settling down with someone who'd complain about us leaving the toilet seat up. Maybe someone who'd wash her delicates out in the sink."

"Delicates," Dean shook his head, half smiling.

"Someone who wasn't taller than me, is what I mean," Nick continued, then he grinned and Dean huffed a soft laugh.

"Anyway, like I was saying. I never interfered before but I'm going to now. Dean. Son. Why the hell haven't you gone after that boy?"

Dean shook his head. "I can't."

"You letting pride stand in your way?" Nick asked incredulously.

"Pride?" Dean huffed a laugh. "No, this isn't about pride. This isn't about anything that Sam and I have done." Dean turned his head to watch a group of children stream by on bikes, their joyful laughter caught on the breeze. "This is about choices. I've made mine. Now Sam has to make his."

Nick heaved a sigh and stood creakily. "Well, I won't pretend to understand. I'm just saying, maybe you should go see him. Help him make his choice." He swung the screen door open and paused in the doorway. "I miss him," he said heavily.

The door slammed shut behind him.

Dean didn't say out loud that he missed Sam. He didn't need to. Missing Sam was a part of him now, and probably always would be. And he didn't repeat to Nick that he had to let Sam make his own choice. That was a realization that had come pretty quickly.

If there was any chance for the two of them to survive this, then Sam had to come to this decision as Dean had. Alone. Dean's choice had come from the very heart of him - from the sure and certain knowledge that he did not want to lose Sam, and that he was willing to do whatever it took to keep him. He would ignore any rule, break any taboo. To keep Sam.

And if that was going to happen, Sam had to come to that same decision. And he had to do it alone.

His phone rang.

-666-

"Hello?" Dean's voice was cautious.

"Dean?"

"Sam!" Dean said in obvious surprise. "I didn't recognize the caller ID. Where's your cell?"

"Long story," Sam said shortly.

"I've got time," Dean invited and Sam couldn't help it, it was so good to hear Dean's voice that he leaned back in the chair, closed his eyes.

"Seriously, dude?" Dean continued. "I'm glad you called."

"I'm sorry for the way I ran out," Sam said softly. "It wasn't fair on you."

"None of this is fair, Sam. And I think we're actually handling it pretty well, considering." Dean's voice dropped. "I mean, long lost brothers? What the hell?"

For the first time in days Sam felt his face crease in a smile, felt a bubble of laughter in his chest.

"No kidding. When did our lives get so weird?"

Dean huffed a laugh down the phone and then there was only long moments of silence and the sound of their breathing.

"I miss you," Sam whispered. "I miss you so much it hurts, Dean."

"I know, babe," Dean said huskily. "Sam? Come home?" His voice was a mere whisper of sound but it cut Sam to his soul.

"Not yet," Sam said softly. "I need more time."

"I'll be waiting."

-666-

Sam left on Sunday, hugging his mother and shaking his father's hand. He lifted Lily up and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"You know we're always here when you need us," his mom said, fussing with the front of his shirt, pushing a loose button back into its hole. Sam stilled her hands with his own and squeezed them gently.

"I do, Mom. Thanks."

"Sam?" his dad said awkwardly. "Take care of yourself."

Sam nodded, then reached out and let his father hug him. He wasn't quite sure he was ready to forgive Nathan yet, but he loved him enough to try to make a start. Anyway he had too many other things to worry about right now to carry a grudge. He drew back, patted his father on the shoulder and climbed into his car.

Zach's apartment wasn't huge, but he had a fold-down couch and Sam had crashed there the year before when they'd been out to a game or a bar. Zach was a friend, he didn't ask questions, didn't wonder why Sam had only a few things with him, didn't hesitate to invite Sam to stay a long as he needed.

Dean dropped off Sam's books and laptop and some clothes while Sam was in class, on Tuesday. When Sam came home and found his things on the couch he had to sit down for a minute, realization hitting him. It had been a week ago today. Just seven short days. And yet the longest time he'd been apart from Dean since the day they met.

Met again, anyway.

Sam went to class and studied hard and completed his work, and in between he worried about their situation. At night he'd doze for an hour or two and then wake up, head spinning with memories and worries. How was Dean without him? What if he got tired of waiting for Sam to figure this all out in his head? What if someone else found out?

Sam wondered about the journal as he tossed and turned sleepless nights away. Who had sent it? Why? Finally he couldn't take the helpless inaction any more. So he began to do do what he did best. Study, research. Find answers.

Through the California Adoption Registry he learned that he had been abandoned in San Joaquin County, just outside of Stockton, although he couldn't gather any information about why he'd then been placed in the care of the San Francisco Social Services. He searched the archives of the Stockton Record, the largest newspaper, and finally located a small article. October, 1986. _Two small boys,_ he read.

_Abandoned in a motel outside Stockton. One of the children is gravely ill. A man is being sought in connection with the case. Police state the man used a fake ID to book into motel. The only clue the police have to his identity is the classic black Chevy Impala witnesses saw him leaving in. No license plate number is available._

Sam read the article again and again, staring in astonishment. That couldn't be a co-incidence. That Dean should have seen that model of car, fallen in love with it. It almost struck Sam as funny, now. That Dean saw him and fell in love with him too, just like the old car. Relics of a half remembered past.

Sam decided to search for mentions of black Impalas, scrolling through page after page in the archive section. By chance, days into his quest, he logged onto the archives of the Stockton Impact and entered his search, forgetting to change the date parameters.

Instantly he had a hit.

_December 2nd, 2002. Police have found two human skeletons in an isolated area in the Emigrant Wilderness Area. The skeletons were found inside a black, 1967 Chevy Impala, about 15 miles from the town of Cold Springs. Police sources indicate it was an anonymous tip-off that led them to the car, buried in deep brush._ _A weapon was also found at the scene that police sources say is a rare Colt revolver. There is speculation that the scene was tampered with before the police arrived, and the anonymous tipster is being sought for questioning. One of the men has been identified. He was Daniel Elkins, 39, of Manning, Colorado. Suspicious circumstances have not been ruled out, although at this time no cause of death has been ascertained._

Sam printed out the article and read it through again, then twice more. One month ago. He pulled out his phone.

-666-

Dean showered and shaved and spent ten minutes collecting empty bottles from all over the house. He carried them out to the recycling bin and dropped them in with a crash, dropping a wink at the glare from his neighbor. She sniffed disapprovingly and continued hanging out her wash. On the top of the fence her cat stared at him disdainfully and then turned her back on him.

Dean changed the sheets on the bed and ran a load through the washer, trying to keep his mind on the mundane tasks and not on the clock slowly ticking away the time until he would see Sam again.

Nick just watched him bemusedly for a while, shaking his head, then patting him on the shoulder when a car horn sounded from the driveway.

"It's just George, coming to pick me up," he explained when Dean jumped a mile. "I won't ask you to come again, I can see you have plans."

Dean looked at the clock, it was just past six. He was never going to make it.

"Dean," Nick said, squeezing his shoulder. "Good luck."

-666-

Dean was waiting for him on the front porch when he drove up. Sam slowly climbed out of the car, his eyes fixed on Dean, who was staring back at him. Sam stopped at the bottom step, suddenly unsure, but then Dean tilted his head and smiled a little, eyes creasing at the corners in the way Sam loved. Sam swallowed hard, smiled back, knees feeling weak.

-666-

Sam looked thinner, Dean thought. And there were shadows under his eyes that matched Dean's perfectly. He also looked tall and strong standing there in the porch light, the evening breeze stirring his soft hair. Had it only been a few weeks since he'd seen him last? Sam looked as nervous as he felt, but Dean couldn't help the smile he gave him. It came straight from his heart.

-666-

Dean took the printed sheets and read through them.

"I wanted to see the journal," Sam explained. "See if this Daniel Elkins is in there. I remember there were some addresses in the back."

"A '67 Chevy Impala," Dean read out loud. "He glanced at Sam. "Guess I remembered more than I thought I did."

"Yeah." Sam waited until Dean finished the last page. "I looked it up on a map. Cold Springs is only about forty miles from the motel where we were found."

"You think those bodies sat there all those years?"

"I don't know," Sam shrugged. "But it's possible, isn't it? That he never meant to abandon us in that place? That he intended to come back, and something happened to him?"

"I guess it's possible." Dean tossed the sheets onto the table. "Not that it makes any difference now."

"What do you mean, it doesn't make a difference?" Sam said incredulously. "Don't you see? This." He slapped his hand down on the papers. "This is where it all started! It has to mean something!"

Dean gazed at him curiously for long moments.

"What?" Sam demanded hotly.

"What are you doing, Sam?"

"I'm trying to find answers."

"Why?" Dean said softly. "Sam, what good will it do? Even if we find out all the whys and hows of the past. It won't change what we have to deal with right now. It won't change the fact that we're brothers."

"But..." Sam felt his temper slip away as quickly as it had appeared. He slumped a little in his chair. "But I just thought. If we knew..."

Dean reached out and covered his hand where it lay limp on the papers. "This isn't something you can fix, Sam, especially not by cracking a book, or searching on google dot com."

Sam gave a half shrug. "I guess," he admitted.

Dean smiled and squeezed his fingers. "You're such a geek," he said fondly.

Sam huffed a small laugh, curling his fingers in Dean's hold until their hands were joined. It felt so good just to be here, talking about this, after the long lonely days of the past few weeks.

"I missed you," Sam blurted out.

Dean squeezed his hand again. "I miss you too."

"Dean, what are we gonna do?" Sam asked, feeling lost all of a sudden. It was as if the drive to find answers had been keeping him going, given him a purpose. And now he had admitted that those answers weren't going to change anything.

"We have to face facts, Sam," Dean said carefully. "And that is there's no pill we can take to cure this. No truth we can dig up that will make it go away. Nothing that we do in the world is going to change this situation. The way I see it we have two choices."

Sam tilted his head, listening hard.

"We face this together. Or apart."

"I don't want to go again," Sam said, from his heart. "I just want to be with you."

A kind of cautious hope was kindling in Dean's eyes. "Then stay," he whispered.

"How? How do we get through every day, living with this?" Sam appealed.

"I don't know," Dean admitted. "I just know... However hard it is, it can't be any worse than the last few weeks."

Sam acknowledged the truth of this with a nod, but reluctantly pulled his fingers free, rubbing his hands together against the chill. He stood up and leaned back against the kitchen bench. "Are we crazy?" he asked seriously. "Is it crazy to want this?"

Dean shrugged. "Well, if we are it's hereditary."

"Yeah." Sam chuckled under his breath. "Thank you, John Winchester."

"Yeah. Thanks for thinking any reason in the world was good enough to leave two little kids alone in a motel room," Dean said with a bitter twist to his lips.

"How about thanking Social Services?" Sam said lowly. "For pulling me out of your arms in the first place."

A pained frown flickered over Dean's face. "You remember that?"

Sam shook his head. "No. I just know they would have had to."

Dean met his eyes steadily and Sam gave him a small half smile that faded swiftly.

"They stole us away from each other, Dean. We'll never truly be brothers, because we missed out on all those years. When we should have been growing up together, being there for each other."

"I know," Dean said sadly.

"Well never have that," Sam said softly. He took a small step forward, reached out and took Dean's hand gently back in his own. "But maybe we can have this."

"That's all I want," Dean told him fervently.

"It might take some time," Sam said carefully. "To be anywhere near what it was before."

"We'll go slowly," Dean agreed.

"One step at a time," Sam nodded. He tugged on Dean's hand, bringing the other man to his feet. "We might find that we just can't make it work at all," Sam said reluctantly.

Dean nodded, stepped closer. "I know," he murmured. "We'll go slow. Okay?" He waited for Sam's small nod before he took another step and slid his hands around Sam's waist, stepping into his space and hugging him, a little at first, and then more tightly.

"Dean," Sam whispered, flexing his hands uncertainly for a moment. And then his palms found the warmth of Dean's chest, slid around to his broad back, clenched in the worn khaki of his shirt.

They hugged for long moments, then Dean was drawing back and Sam looked away, blinking hard as Dean surreptitiously rubbed under his eyes.

"I'll, um. I'll get the journal," Dean said, clearing his throat. "See if we can find those names in it."

"I thought you didn't care about the past?" Sam said, hands lingering on Dean's waist before pulling away reluctantly.

"I said that knowing the past won't change anything," Dean amended. He caught Sam's eye and shrugged. "Doesn't mean it wouldn't be nice, knowing one way or another."

Sam nodded slowly. "You get the journal," he agreed. "I'll get the beer."

"Uh, better make it coffee," Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck ruefully. "We're kinda out of beer."

Sam frowned, then reached out and cupped Dean's face gently, one thumb smoothing over a dark shadow beneath his eye. "Coffee it is."

Dean turned for the door, paused, and swung back around. He opened his mouth, sought for words, then shrugged self consciously. "It's good to see you," he muttered. Then he disappeared down the hall.

Sam stayed where he was for long moments, feeling the warmth of the sun on his back through the kitchen window. For the first time in weeks that empty space in his chest was gone. He took a deep breath, and then another, feeling the warmth spreading through him, a little at a time.

-666-

They studied the journal, argued back and forth, made notes and finally got Sam's laptop and began to look up some of the scribblings and clippings tucked in the pages of the tattered old book.

They grilled cheese sandwiches for supper, then retired to the comfort of the living room to argue it more.

"Maybe we can make a trip to Lawrence," Sam wondered. "See if we can find some of these other names mentioned in here. Maybe even figure out who the hell sent the damn thing to us."

"Yeah, and how they knew who and where we were."

Sam nodded, then yawned and blinked. "Man, I'm tired."

Dean patted the spot next to him on the couch. "Come here?" he invited and Sam slid over, allowed himself to be drawn against Dean. "Not sleeping too good?" Dean asked quietly.

Sam let his head come to rest on Dean's shoulder, yawning widely again. "Not really," he admitted. "You?"

"No." Dean settled a little into the corner of the couch, his own eyes half closed. "Not much."

Sam rubbed his cheek on the smooth fabric of Dean's shirt, breathing in the familiar smell, a thousand memories playing in his mind. "Hey, Dean?"

"Hmm?"

"It's good to see you too."

-666-

Sam slept and Dean dozed, unwilling to give himself up to sleep entirely, half afraid he'd wake to find Sam gone, or worse, that this had all been some dream and Sam had never been here at all. It was almost beyond belief that Sam was here with him now, in his arms.

Sam stirred, snuffled. "Is your arm getting tired?" he slurred, shifting a little.

"Uh uh," Dean denied softly. "Go back to sleep, you need it."

"This is nice," Sam said wistfully. "Even if we never have more than this..."

Dean pressed a kiss to Sam's soft hair, just behind his ear. "I know," he agreed. Sam's head grew heavy again and Dean tightened his arm, drew him a little closer. What if this was all they ever had again? Was it enough?

Sam murmured something in his sleep, pressing closer and Dean smiled and lay his cheek on Sam's crown, inhaling the clean fragrance of his hair.

Dean had learned a long time ago to take what he could get.

-666-

Sam felt the low rumble of Dean's voice in his chest.

"Is he staying?" That was Nick's voice, hushed in the quiet house.

"We're taking it slow," Dean whispered.

"Pretend I'm not here," Nick hissed, and Sam couldn't help smiling as he heard the old man tiptoe back down the hall.

"Playing possum?" Dean murmured in his ear.

"I'm too comfortable to move," Sam admitted with a low purr. "I haven't slept like that in weeks." He tilted his head back, studied Dean's face anxiously. "Did you get any rest?"

"Some." Dean smiled. "Sam, will you stay? I can sleep in the guest bedroom, if you want."

Sam reluctantly pulled away, shivering at the loss of toasty warmth down his side. "I should be the one sleeping in the guest room."

"Or we could just sleep," Dean said tentatively. "Like we did just now."

Sam couldn't deny it was what he wanted. He didn't remember when the decision had been made, or if he'd even made it. Maybe some part of him had already made the decision a long time ago, and just bided its time and waited for the rest of him to catch up. But all of a sudden Sam knew with absolute certainty that he wasn't going to let go of Dean. He wasn't sure if that made him as crazy as their father, or just made him a bad person. And right now, he didn't much care.

Maybe he would, later on. Maybe Dean would. Maybe the weight of conscience would drive a wedge between them as time went on.

But Sam didn't think so. Dean loved him, it was there now in his eyes, his gentle touch, his cautious hope. It had been there from the beginning, in the way he'd given himself with such trust. Sam stood up, held one hand out.

Dean seemed frozen, for a moment. Then he reached out and curled his fingers in Sam's.

-666-

They lay down together on the bed, face to face. Refreshed after his nap Sam was wide awake and he couldn't take his eyes off Dean's face, painted in shades of silver and white in the moonlight. Silently they just gazed, Dean's hand stroking down Sam's forearm, Sam's hand pressing against the soft material that covered Dean's chest.

Dean's long lashes fluttered closed and he slept a little, and Sam thought he must have dozed too. Once he woke up to find that Dean was caressing his hand, softly. Another time Dean must have rolled onto his back and Sam found himself with his head tucked under Dean's chin, Dean's hand stroking through his hair.

Some time during the night they both must have fallen asleep, because when Sam finally woke up again the sun was filtering through the curtains and the room was full of the soft dawn light. Dean's cheek was pressed to his, damp warm breath painted his skin as Dean's chest rose and fell against his own. Their limbs were tangled, Dean's hand was on his back, smoothing gently, soft sweeping arcs that sent a shiver of longing over Sam's skin.

"Dean?" he murmured, tilting his head, blindly seeking and finding warm, parted lips. Then they were kissing, languidly, deeply, hands gripping a little tighter on each other's backs, breath coming a little faster. Sam teased his tongue over Dean's lips, tasting him, drinking him down, only realizing as he pulled him even closer how thirsty he had been for this, how hungry.

"Sam," Dean panted, hands sliding to Sam's shoulders and pushing. "Wake up."

"Hmm?" Sam hummed, snuffling and sighing into Dean's neck.

"Hey," Dean curved into the tickling touch, huffing a chuckle against Sam's cheek. "We're going slow, remember?"

Realization dawned and Sam rolled away from Dean and onto his back, chest rising and falling as he breathed raggedly. "Oh, man," he groaned ruefully. "I have no self control."

"You were half asleep," Dean comforted, rolling onto his side and stretching. "Hey?"

Sam rubbed his cheek self consciously, feeling the flush of desire war with the tide of embarrassment.

"You okay?" Dean asked softly.

"I guess maybe I missed that too," Sam admitted.

"You think?" Dean leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. "It's okay. No harm done."

Sam slanted him a glance, his embarrassment fading as he read the warm desire in Dean's eyes. "Do you feel guilty?" he asked curiously.

Dean appeared to think about it. "No," he said finally. "But then I never did." He flicked Sam a nervous glance. "Sam, I don't know how to say this without sounding nuts. But, bad has this has been, there's a part of me..."

"What?" Sam asked curiously.

Dean reached out, touched his hand again, smoothing his thumb over Sam's knuckle. "I spent so many years wondering if I'd imagined you. Or worrying that even if you were real, that you might be alone out there." Dean's lashes swept down, hiding his eyes for a moment. "That you were being hurt. That you might need me and I wasn't there for you."

Sam's heart twisted and he cupped Dean's face, tilted his head until Dean's eyes met his. "I was fine," he said deeply.

Dean smiled gently. "I know," he whispered. "And it's so good to know that you were happy and being taken care of. I wish this wasn't hurting you so much, Sam. I wish you could feel about it like I'm starting to. I can ignore what everybody else in the world would think is wrong, and just be glad we found each other."

"Whatever the reason," Sam murmured thoughtfully. He thought of their warm, slow kisses. The kindling fire of passion that could still ignite so easily between them. And Dean pulling gently away because he knew Sam wanted to go slow, and he was taking care of him like he always did.

"I can," Sam decided. "I can be glad about that." He turned his head and looked at his lover, his brother, putting the two together in his mind. That cold, empty feeling was gone, he realized. And that was enough for now.

Maybe it wasn't perfect. Maybe there would always be a part of him that fought to accept it. But for now, in their bed, in the warm morning sun...

Sam put his arms around Dean and embraced his future.

-666-

And Dean held Sam close and found forgiveness for the past. It had led them to this place. From here they could find their own way.

Epilogue

_Halloween 2005_

"Hey, I thought you were wearing a costume as well?"

Dean lifted a brow. "I thought one of us looking like a dork was enough."

Sam looked down at his pirate costume and then quirked a brow. "You're just jealous you don't get to wear an eye patch."

"Yeah," Dean said dryly. "That must be it. Anyway, I am wearing a costume." He slipped on a narrow headband that disappeared beneath his hair, leaving only a pair of sleek, red, devil horns. Then he turned a little as so Sam could see the red pointed tail protruding from the back of his jeans.

"How apt," Sam smirked. He grabbed a fistful of leather jacket and hauled Dean closer. "What happens if I pull your tail?" he murmured against Dean's lips.

"Play your cards right and I might let you find out," Dean whispered, then leaned forward and took Sam's mouth in a deep, unhurried kiss.

"Dean, we're late," Sam muttered as he felt himself drawn towards the bed. Hands were burrowing beneath his billowing shirt, sending flutters of desire through him. He tilted his head back as Dean laid a trail of suckling kisses down his throat. Finally he grabbed wide shoulders and held Dean away. "You really are a little devil, aren't you?" he accused and Dean grinned wickedly.

-666-

"To Sam and his awesome LSAT scores." Everyone raised a glass and Sam rolled his eyes.

"It's not that big a deal."

"He acts all humble," Jessica teased. "But he scored a 174."

"Is that good?" Carl asked, tossing back another shot.

"It's okay," Dean said grudgingly, then ducked as a hail of beer nuts came at him from all directions.

"How does it feel to be the golden boy in your family?" Carl teased.

Sam exchanged a quick glance with the closest member of his family, and Dean dropped him a quick wink.

"Does the phrase 'walk on water' mean anything to you?" Dean answered blandly and Sam elbowed him.

"Ha ha." Sam raised his own glass. "I have a toast as well. To Jessica and Zach. Congratulations on their engagement."

All attention turned to the pretty blonde and the dark haired man with his arm firmly around her waist.

"Long life and happiness," Rebecca chimed in, and they all raised their glasses in a toast.

"Nice deflection, Sam," Dean murmured a few minutes later as the crowd spread out a little.

Sam slipped his arm around Dean's waist and tucked his fingers into the waist band of Dean's jeans. "I was serious. She's a nice girl."

"She's okay," Dean admitted, leaning casually into Sam's side. "I have to admit she's easier to like now she's stopped mooning over you."

Sam gaped at him and Dean grinned, obviously pleased to have surprised him. "Come on," he hooted. "D'you think I don't recognize a fellow Sammy-worshipper?"

Sam could feel the color in his cheeks and cursed his seemingly unbreakable habit of blushing. It was small compensation that Dean loved it when he blushed.

"Also," Dean said, sipping casually at his beer. "She looks kind of hot in that nurses outfit."

"Oh," Sam said, eyes narrowing. "You're gonna pay for that."

Dean wiggled his eye brows and danced away into the crowd as Sam reached for him.

-666-

_November 3rd 2005_

"Dean will you stop pacing," Nick said in exasperation. "It won't bring him home any quicker."

"I should have told him to phone. Why didn't he phone?"

The front door slammed and Dean's head came up, but it was only Gary and Ronnie.

"Is he back?" Ronnie asked eagerly. "We brought champagne to celebrate!"

"Or commiserate if he doesn't get it," Gary teased.

"He'll get it," Nathan said as Dean resumed pacing.

"Of course he'll get it," Colleen agreed.

The front door slammed shut and everybody turned to the kitchen door expectantly. Sam stepped in, face sober, but Dean knew his lover better and he was already smiling as Sam suddenly grinned and gave them a thumbs up.

"He got it!" Ronnie yelled and Dean was wrapping his arms around Sam and squeezing the life out of him.

"I knew you'd get it," Dean murmured into Sam's ear.

Sam squeezed back and they held each other just that moment longer, while around them their friends and family celebrated for them.

-666-

Sam rocked the porch swing gently with one foot, head resting against Dean's, arm wrapped around his shoulder. The November evening was drawing in around them, from inside the house came the sound of their family celebrating.

"Lily has a crush on Ronnie," Sam murmured and Dean chuckled.

"No kidding. I thought your dad was gonna get his shotgun out of the car."

"Look on the bright side. If he's concentrating on them he might stop staring daggers at you,"

"Hey," Dean protested comfortably. "Your father is warming up to me. I actually had a conversation with him when he arrived today."

"Gee, and it only took three years," Sam teased, kissing the soft hair behind Dean's ear.

"Yeah, at this rate I might get a hug on our twenty-fifth anniversary."

Sam huffed a laugh and sighed happily. "Hey, Dean?"

"Hmm?"

"Thanks."

Dean twisted and looked at him. "For what?"

"Oh, you know." Sam smiled. "For never giving up on us."

"Oh, that." Dean settled back comfortably. "You're welcome."

The End.


End file.
